Fantôme
by luckwouldhaveit
Summary: Andre and Firmin take an offer for the ruined Populaire and split, giving ownership to a young businesswoman with a love for the opera. But when the deadly Phantom returns to his domain, he and she must choose whether to compromise or repeat the horrors of the past.
1. Chapter 1: Fantôme

**Fantôme**

Andre and Firmin take an offer for the ruined _Populaire_ and split, giving ownership to a young businesswoman with a love for the opera. Most think the infamous and deadly Phantom of the Opera has disappeared since his ruination at the hands of Christine Daaé, but when he returns, he and the new owner of the _Populaire_ must choose whether to compromise or else repeat the horrors that came before.

**Author's Note**: I've sprinkled a little French in here in order to try to keep the flavor of the setting and original story, but I do not speak French, so if there are any mistakes, I apologize in advance for them. I hope you enjoy this &amp; thank you!

...

**Chapter 1: ****Fantôme**

"**W**e're taking the money and running, Firmin." Andre said resolutely, handing his partner a letter—the first offer to buy the Opera Populaire off of them after the terrible, terrible business a few weeks before. The place was ruined and so were they, mostly.

"She agreed to our asking price of ten percent of what we paid originally," Andre continued, knowing his partner probably wasn't really reading was he was looking at. "And I didn't expect to sell the place even for that much."

"The buyer's a woman," Firmin scoffed, his tone clearly indicating his doubt that a woman would be able to handle any of what the now-infamous opera house had to offer its owner. "A MademoiselleBenoit."

Andre nodded absently, rifling through paperwork. "The daughter of some obscenely wealthy aristocrat."

Firmin sighed. "Why wasn't _I_ the progeny of some obscenely wealthy aristocrat?"

Andre ignored him. "She asks us to send word immediately if we're going to take her offer so she can have workers begin renovating the place, and I'm going to—agreed?"

"Yes, yes, if you think so."

Andre stuffed the paperwork he had been collecting into an envelope and wrote her address in rather untidy script.

"There, it's done. Now we can wash our hands of that horrible place. And its…phantom."

…

Nataly stepped out of the carriage and made a face at the charred shell of the once-stunning opera house she had just made her own.

"Have the renovators been here yet?" she asked her man as he opened the carriage door for her.

"Yes, mademoiselle. They've been here all week and will be for the next few months, making the place beautiful again." His smile was a bit rueful. "I am going to take care of the horses and then I will accompany you inside."

She turned back toward him, her eyebrows raised.

"There is no need for that, I'm sure."

"Surely you would like some protection? After what has happened—and who may still be in there? They never found him…"

"No, Henri, I shall not be afraid of my own property," she replied and, lifting her skirts, walked confidently up the steps and into the opera house. The smell of ash, dust, dirt, and new wood assaulted her nose as she made her way through the place. It made her heart ache to see one of her favorite places in the world so decrepit, but repairs were already underway and they were heartening to see. The workers called to one another in gruff voices, tools made noise, and caps and helmets were lifted respectfully as she passed.

"Mademoiselle."

"Afternoon, mademoiselle."

"We'll have her polished back up in no time."

Nataly nodded and smiled politely back at them and did not notice that she was stared at admiringly when her back was turned. She was now, admittedly, past her girlish early youth, but still possessed that something in a woman which caused men to gaze nevertheless. It was a grace, a worldly depth in her eyes, a way of carrying herself that earned immediate respect. She was intimidating at times, and knew it. But it had served her well in the past.

She entered into the theatre proper and at first let her eyes rest on the sooty stage, then to the seats where she and her older brother Leon would always sit when he would take her to the opera, accompanied at times by their father, though never by their mother on account of her headaches. Finally her eyes fell on the great chandelier that used to hang from the ceiling which was now being hung close to the ground. Two men were moving about it making repairs with rapt expressions. Neither of them noticed her entrance.

Nataly continued exploring every inch of her opera house. Her opera house. She smiled a little bit as she repeated the words to herself. As a girl she'd loved the place, and now thanks to her father's money, she would be its owner. She wanted to know every inch of it.

It was hours before she happened upon an entrance to the cellars and what she found took her breath away. With a rapacious curiosity that they say kills cats, Nataly explored the stone tunnels, caverns, and secret passageways. When she came upon the largest cavern hidden under the opera house, her footsteps stilled and she looked around warily for the one who lived—or used to live—here. She crept slowly over to the handsome bed and saw it covered in a thin layer of dust. No one had slept here since that night. Relaxing, she turned in all directions slowly and stared at the old abode of that man who had sung to Miss Daaé on the stage that night and had caused the chandelier to fall and the place to catch afire. Nataly had been in the very second row of that performance with a family friend, and the two had been forced to launch themselves flat against the wall of the theatre and then flee with the rest of its occupants.

The Opera Ghost. A man who had hidden himself down here. Nataly nosily went through his things, trying to learn as much about the man as possible in case he should come back. She found sheets of hand-written music, novels with worn and fragile covers, stolen fabrics and china. The area was solely in need of refurbishment.

Nataly decided she was going to have rugs laid down and new furnishings brought in. According to this dust and disarray, the Ghost was long gone, and due to his new fame, likely never to return. His long habitation here, however, had made the place surprisingly hospitable, and it would have been an ill thing to let it go to waste. One should always know what is under one's opera house…and have complete control of it.

As she walked back down the stone corridors, she mused about ways to make the stone walkways more beautiful as well.

She suddenly grimaced when she remembered what lay in store for her all too soon. The chance of meeting the murdering Phantom of the Opera was nothing in comparison.

She had to meet the cast and crew.


	2. Chapter 2: His Whole Life

**Chapter 2: ****His Whole Life**

**T**he new patroness of the _Opera Populaire_ was stubborn, self-assured, and intimidatingly wealthy.

Madame Giry surprised herself by liking her very much.

Nataly Beniot possessed definite opinions on the way in which the place should be run, who should be singing, what they should be singing, and handled every and all issues with the calm, smooth grace and effective wielding of authority reflective of excellent breeding.

Her persuasiveness would have been intolerable had she not been spot-on with everything she wanted. As it was, Madame Giry, having been convinced that no patron would have what it took to manage this insane place, found herself feeling reassured, impressed, approving, and even hopeful. Money obviously was of no consequence to MademoiselleBeniot, so the opera house itself would soon be resorted even beyond its former glory, and she certainly seemed to know much more about opera than the previous two owners had combined.

But the ultimate test would be, of course, how she dealt with _him_. If he ever was to come back.

Giry was one of the last to leave the large study from which the important members of the cast and crew of the opera house were leaving. A majority of the cast had refused to return after everything that had happened, so the meeting had both introduced them all to MademoiselleBenoit as well as to many prospective new cast members. Giry had been impressed by Beniot's taste in people—all those she had met seemed qualified and there were a few quite promising dancers, singers, and stage crew.

Madame Giry felt a soft but firm hand on her arm as she was leaving and turned.

"Excuse me, madame," Nataly said softly. "But I have questions in need of answers and I have heard you are the best person to ask."

"Mademoiselle, I know as little about the whole affair as anyone else."

"I don't think that is true." Nataly's voice was low and gentle but her eyes were intent on the older woman's, and Madame Giry noticed how fine her long, black eyelashes were. She sighed internally. This Nataly processed the same habit of knowing everything that the Phantom himself possessed. Ultimately the eyes framed by those lashes were what softened her; they were dark, but understanding. There was a kindness beneath their firmness. Madame Giry hoped that, with information, she might behave differently that her predecessors.

"It is a long story," she said.

"I should like to know all of it."

Madam Giry turned back toward the large desk in the room slowly. "You should know the story, but also that I do not tell anyone lightly. He does not like his past spread about."

"Do you speak for him?" They both took chairs opposite the desk. Nataly leaned in toward the other woman, the fingers of her hands entwined together.

Giry's mouth twitched upwards slightly. "He has no trouble speaking for himself."

"You've been here a long time, madame. And you know him. Obviously, I do not want anything to happen again as it did before. That means that if he were to return, I would have to either pacify his wishes or oust him from the place with force. Personally, I can tolerate the idea of housing a ghost, but only if he starts behaving himself better." Her lips too quirked upwards. "You seem to me a sensible woman. Regardless of your personal feelings, do you think it would be wise for my cast and for myself to allow him to return here if he were to attempt it?"

Giry was quiet for a moment or so and then replied, "That depends on how you treat him. He has certain demands he likes followed."

"I have heard he likes to run the place his way." Nataly sat back in her chair with a frown. "That might be a problem."

Madame Giry smiled a little. She liked Nataly's no-nonsense approach. She was respectful yet not afraid of the famed phantom. That could go far.

There was quiet for half a minute or so and then Nataly asked softly, "Do you know who he is?"

"He is a man," Giry replied after a pause. "Not a ghost as he would like you to think. His life has been a hard one and he is cold and bitter. But I, who have shown him a kindness in the past, have never been harmed by him or his actions in any way. Nor has my daughter. He is capable of murder, that is certainly true. But there was no murder here for a very long time until the new owners began to disrespect him."

Nataly nodded, looking away and lost in thought. There was enough sweetness and sincerity in her expression and pulled-together brows that Madame Giry entrusted her further.

"He was in love with Christine Daaé."

Nataly fixed her eyes on her with surprise.

"But she loved another and did not stay with him as he wished," Giry continued. "He is a human being, MademoiselleBeniot, and feels the same pains and joys, but his life has shaped his mind differently. He is a genius—a musician, a composer, an architect—but has extremes of temper that some would call madness. The opera house has been his whole life."

It seemed she would share no more.

"Thank you for telling me these things," Nataly said, her voice soft and grateful. She seemed to be seeing the other woman in a new light—as a friend, an advisor. Madame Giry nodded, rose, and left the study.

"Goodnight, mademoiselle."

"Goodnight, madame."


	3. Chapter 3: Rules

**Chapter 3: Rules**

**R**ehearsals for _La Dame Blanche_ were finally able to take place on the newly-refurbished stage months and months after the cast and crew had been set. Even those who had witnessed the horrors before could not help but be enchanted by the stunning new opera house and excited for the upcoming performance. The performance would be an _op__é__ra comique_ in three acts and featured a castle, a hidden fortune, and—a benevolent ghost. The patroness, MademoiselleBeniot, had said about that that there would be no more ill-meaning ghosts in her opera house.

Even to those still very wary about the dangers of the Opera Populaire, it seemed a good precedent.

With Madame Giry's help, Nataly had found several new stars and had promoted the old ones who had remained. The cast got along well, especially because there was an air of freshness and starting again. No more Carlotta, Christine, Raoul, Firmin or Andre. And…no more phantom? It was unclear, but it certainly seemed as if simply the hopeful mood of the entire building would be enough to frighten any ghost away.

Nataly had transformed the caverns below the opera house as well. The beautiful bed was remade, free of dust, and had a handsome rug beneath it. Paintings hung on the stone walls, the old, gutted candle holders had been given new candles and a shine, the writing desk restocked, and the grand organ that looked to have been built by the phantom himself had been polished up. Rugs and tapestries lined the main passageways now and Nataly had familiarized herself with all of the secret ways and entrances that she could discover.

The attics of the opera house, though never put to any use by the phantom, were spacious as well, and Nataly had spent the last couple months having the space prepared for human inhabitance. It was now a cozy home-away-from-home for her, complete with shelves of books in the walls, a comfortable bed, a divan, and a wash basin. She had purchased a couple paintings especially for the purpose of decorating the place and since the walls had been repaired, it was nowhere near as drafty as it had been. The only thing she didn't like about it was that there were no windows, and was currently in contact with an architect about whether it would be possible to create a window up there and install stained glass.

Though she had not been down to the caverns in the past week, to her knowledge the phantom had not yet returned. It was an oddly anti-climactic thing, seeing as she had prepared for it. But his permanent departure was likely for the best.

She had just had the pleasure of watching a rehearsal for _La Dame Blanche _and was very pleased with it. It was delightfully funny and every song made one smile.

She stood when they were finished and clapped loudly. "_Bravo_!"

Their tenor bowed in jest and she laughed happily.

Madame Giry was sipping tea in her study when she went in and Nataly smiled at her.

"So good to see you again—how is your daughter?"

Meg had been ill for a couple weeks and Madame Giry had not been at rehearsals because of it.

"Mending," she answered, looking a bit careworn. "Finally. Your doctor has been a blessing, thank you so much for recommending his name."

"Joseph's wonderful," Nataly said warmly. "He's not as wedded to old remedies as so many other doctors…and the man helped my mother deliver me and might even be at my bedside when I die, bless him." She grinned.

Giry smiled. "The opera house is beautiful," she commented, the twinkle in her eyes giving away how welcome she knew the compliment was to Nataly, though Nataly had no doubt heard the same many times.

"It is," she agreed heartily, unable to contain her smile of pleasure. "I'm dreadfully fond of it. My brother used to take me to almost every performance. It broke my heart to see the place burning." Her face had fallen and Madame Giry changed the subject.

"How did you like the rehearsal?"

"It was delightful. And I felt a comedy was appropriate to begin our new season after all the tragedy…but I admit I cannot help but feel a more serious theme is needed next to balance it out."

At her words—seemingly in response to them—a tile in the study ceiling lifted an inch and a letter dropped right down onto her desk. There was a beat of silence in which Nataly took one glance at the wax skull that sealed it and stood up, looking up at the ceiling from whence it had come.

"You've returned, that's all well, I expected it," she said coolly. "But. We will _not_ communicate in this fashion, you and I. I _will_ meet and speak with all important personages of our opera house—therefore I ask that you come here and speak to me in all your royal ghostliness if you have something to say. You've shown in the past that you are not a coward, so that shouldn't be too difficult." With that, she sat back down and frowned at the walls.

When no reply came, she made an irritated noise and tore open the letter.

She read: _My Dear __Mademoiselle__,_

_I offer my congratulations on your newest business endeavor and my compliments as to how well you have had my opera house repaired. I especially enjoy the improvements to my personal abode, though I admit the ease of its access disturbed me. That is beside the point now, however, seeing as I have made alterations alleviating that concern. _

_ I should hope you are familiar with me, __Mademoiselle __Beniot, owing to the public nature of my most recent activities, and I also hope those familiar with the ways in which an owner of this property can avoid similar events happening in the future has made you aware of them. My usual salary is much overdue and I expect you will make up for those missed months. In regards to the casting choices for the upcoming performance, I have no criticisms, although I hope you do not intend to put on all comedies. Nothing but comedy can be as depressing as all tragedy, __Mademoiselle __Beniot, and I should not like things around here to become dull. _

_ Take care,_

_ The Phantom _

She had just finished reading when the room darkened slightly; a shadow took up the doorway and there stood the Phantom himself, cloaked in black, with a black mask over both his eyes and cheeks. He stepped in, closed the door behind him, and then faced the two silent women.

"At your service, mademoiselle," he said, his scathing tone clearly conveying how false the words were.

"Rather, I seem to be at yours."

"Ah, not so shallow and ignorant as you appear."

Nataly did not even blink at the insult. "If you have paid any attention to me, as I assume you have, I know you know otherwise." She stood also, instinctively wishing not to remain physically lower than him, and shook the letter slightly in her hand to indicate it. "I appreciate the fact that you have enjoyed playing this game in the past, and by all means continue it as you please—except _not_ with me. I am willing to respect you, to listen to you, but _not_ to indulge you. This was your home before it became mine, and I will give you what you wish as far as a 'salary.' But as much as I'm sure you enjoy playing puppeteer, you no longer pull the strings behind this place, monsieur. I have been to almost every opera this opera house has put on for the past ten years, I've followed the changes your influence has brought about, and I have agreed with and appreciated all of them. Our tastes match, and that is why I think it will be perfectly possible to reach a partnership in which we make decisions together, in person. I hope you will agree that that is an acceptable sacrifice to have to make in the interest of being left in peace."

The Phantom had listened to her without a change of expression and when she was done, remarked, "Pretty speech. But I am not interested in having my power curtailed in this manner."

"Refrain from being impossible, monsieur, I beg you," she curtly replied, certainly not sounding as if she were begging anything. "You will not find a more reasonable offer in all of Christendom. I too wish not to have my authority curtailed, and am attempting to grant you all I can within reason. You will be given almost everything you desire as well as being left in peace—with the addition of not having to skulk around and hide yourself when it comes to me. Excuse me, but demanding more seems to me simply absurd."

"I did not come here to argue over terms, mademoiselle," the Phantom replied, his tone raised and harsh. "I came to impress upon you the facts of your situation, which, if you do not accept, you stand to lose your beloved investment and your life."

He blinked at the sudden fire that flared in her expressive eyes. Extraordinarily boldly, she moved deftly out behind the desk, strode up to him, and scowled right up at his face.

"Burn it down again, then," she hissed. "Murder more people. If that is what you want, obviously I can't stop you. But if it _isn't_" —her gaze suddenly softened and her eyes held a plea in them— "we could _try_ to play by one another's rules. I am not your enemy, monsieur."

He was silent for so long Nataly began to doubt the wisdom of her boldness. The expression in his hard eyes did not change. Finally he said to her, "We shall see. I shall call on you again soon to collect my salary. Good day." And with an opening of the door and a swish of his black cloak, he was gone.


	4. Chapter 4: Heavy Things

**Chapter 4: Heavy Things**

**N**ataly came down from her private attic space in the late evening two nights later to continue inventory (of which she was behind) of the opera house's vast stores of costumes taking up two crammed rooms back of the stage. She was cataloging on a notepad in the dim light of candles the various dresses at their disposal along an entire wall when she heard steps and froze momentarily in surprise, then composed herself and faced the only other person still in the opera house with her.

The Phantom was dressed well in handsome clothes and again had a black mask covering both his eyes and cheeks. His hands were behind his back casually though his mouth had formed a rather perturbed line.

"I had overheard you were here and looked everywhere and did not see you. And I know this opera house exceedingly well. Where did you manage to hide yourself?"

"I have your money in my office, but if you wouldn't terribly mind, I'd like to get more of this done first," she replied, evading his question and his eyes casually while looking through dresses and making notes and tallies.

The Phantom was quiet for a moment and then replied, "Take your time." His tone was not sardonic and the fact that he had not demanded an answer of her gave her ease enough to answer him honestly.

She straightened her back which had been bent over her notes and looked him directly in the eyes. "You had not been making use of the attic space here and so I have taken the liberty of making it a private space of my own."

Surprisingly, a ghost of a smile rose to the Phantom's lips. "That explains it. I should like to see what you have done with it sometime, mademoiselle."

"When you and I know each other a little better, perhaps," she replied, turning back to her task. "As much as anyone could know Your Grand Aloofness."

"I do not take kindly to being mocked," the Phantom growled and his tone made her turn back around with an apologetic expression.

"Pardon me," she said gently and quickly. "My father teases and I'm afraid I have picked up the habit. I never mean to give offense."

"I imagine if you wished to insult me you'd come up with something better."

Nataly smiled winningly at his return to his previous good humor. "Yes, I would."

He gazed at her for a moment, particularly her smile, and then turned away.

"Plus you said I was shallow and ignorant when we first met so I think that affords me a free pass."

"I'm not convinced yet that you are not."

She could tell by a subtle inflection in his tone that he was teasing her in return and, grinning, she exhaled loudly, mock-offended. "Troll! There is no need for this undue rudeness."

The Phantom chuckled. The sound of his low, amused voice was pleasant.

"You and Madame Giry seem to have become fast friends."

"I like the woman. And we all need friends, monsieur."

She did not see the spasm on his face because her back was turned but she heard his silence and turned to gaze at him.

"Including you," she said gently. "Moping ill becomes you."

His eyes flew to hers and she saw she had offended him again.

"You do not know me well enough to assert such opinions," he shot at her darkly.

"I beg pardon… That was rude of me. Obviously I'm not accustomed to holding my tongue—one of my more apparent faults."

"You're a spoiled girl unused to having to respect much of anyone," he growled. Nataly was stung by this but let it be. She continued cataloging dresses in the quiet. It was a full five minutes before that quiet was broken again. Though she had expected her words to drive him away, he seemed unwilling to leave, and wrestled against his anger until it had dissipated.

"They've allowed all this to become very unorganized, haven't they?" he muttered as if to himself, staring beside him at the rack of clothing next to him.

"Yes. I've been trying to put all the dresses together but I'm worried if I mess about too much no one will be able to find anything," she said, pawing gently through pink parcels.

"Let them search. The soprano's dresses should be together, not flung about." He took a long white gown from the rack and brought it near Nataly, finding a better place for it.

"Well, I'm all finished with that wall," she said, gesturing toward the clothes she had already made tally of. "So—"

"I'll put them in the right places."

"Thank you." She smiled a little at him and continued her note-taking on the opposite wall of the narrow room.

"You mentioned your father earlier," the Phantom said after they had worked a few more minutes in silence. He found a skirt out of place as he spoke and moved it farther down the rack. "Does he live nearby?"

"Yes, on Gratiot with my mother." When the Phantom did not inquire further, she added, "My mother has been ill for a few months now."

"A serious illness?"

"She keeps to her bed… She has terrible headaches. She used to suffer from them often but it's recently become worse. It worries us but to be honest she's unpleasant to be around now because the pain makes her irritable. My parents have never been terribly close, but it's wearing on my father. He likes things quiet." Perhaps she felt she was talking too much because she turned the conversation toward him again. "So you said you approved of my casting choices?"

"Mm. Surprisingly yes. You have a nose for the opera."

"I think most would say 'an ear'."

"It takes more than just an ear."

"Yes, indeed, all the senses. Expect perhaps taste. I don't generally make it a habit of licking the auditioners."

The Phantom grinned; she could only tell because she had turned around and looked over to see his reaction.

"Probably a wise decision," he replied stoically. "I doubt many of them bathe very often."

Nataly chuckled.

After another few minutes' silence Nataly asked him, "How many people have you killed?"

The Phantom turned to look at her and then turned back to his work. He replied, "Three directly. More that night of the fire."

"I was there that night, you know."

"Were you?"

"Second row."

"And how did you like the performance?"

"I thought it was refreshingly edgy. I like risqué scenes that make old ladies squirm in their seats. I think I would have done the finale differently, though. It got uncomfortably _warm_ there in the end."

"Strange, I felt it was cold… Still. I suppose I am pleased you didn't die."

"As am I, of course. But one takes these risks attending operas," sighing theatrically. She smiled when he chuckled a little again and then she asked him in quite a different tone, "Do you feel remorse for them, the people you've killed?"

"Why do you ask?" He turned to look at her.

"I am trying to learn what kind of man you are. To understand your character." She had also stopped her work to look at him.

"It's all a matter of mindset, mademoiselle. Generally I keep in mind that the moves I made were necessary and do not torment myself with questions that no man really has the answers to."

"And other times you regret the blood on your hands?" Her voice was soft and she was glad to see her questions did not appear to be upsetting him.

"I do not regret." His tone was cold. "Although it is a heavy thing to hold for any man, the agency of taking lives and the memories of the act of it. But things people do every day lead forward death, whether it is missing a train or writing a letter or having a child. All plots lead deathward, mademoiselle, and just because people are unaware and do not all strangle with their bare hands does not mean they do not kill each other every day."

"Well, the distinction is simple—those who do intend to murder and those who do not intend it. The fact that people die is a poor way to legitimize murder."

"You want to understand my character, and what I will tell you is this: I am not afraid of taking lives but neither do I feel nothing. I do what I see fit and do not trouble myself with questions about the morality or Christianity of those decisions."

"I am not afraid of you, Monsieur Phantom," she stated frankly. "If you wish me to be, I have no doubt you'd be able to make me so. But until I am given reason, I am not going to see you as defined by your past."

He said nothing, but she imagined the silence to be a sort of assent. Truly she was appreciative of his company tonight—his help and conversation had made the task move much more quickly.

"I think everything is ordered," he said later when she looked up from the last of her note-taking. She smiled.

"I think it is. I've appreciated your help and your company."

He nodded curtly in an old fashioned way that amused her. She said, "If you'll follow me I have your salary ready."

"Yes."

When she handed the envelope of hefty bills to the Phantom in her dimly-lit office she looked up into his masked face and began a bit hesitantly, "You have every right to decline, monsieur, but I thought I would ask if you were interested in having company in Box Five for the coming performance and, if so, if I could join you?"

"Perhaps when you and I know each other better," he replied, repeating her words from earlier that evening. She nodded, unsurprised, and picked up her coat from its hook, slipping her arms into its sleeves.

"Then I shall say goodnight, monsieur."

"Goodnight, MademoiselleBenoit." He promptly turned and walked out.


	5. Chapter 5: Uncomplicated

**Chapter 5: Uncomplicated**

**N**ataly Beniot's head was swimming with champagne and congratulations.

Her father had attended the opening performance, though Leon was out of the country and unable to accompany him. He had kissed her fondly twice on her cheeks and squeezed her hand in his warm, larger one.

The crowd had moved after the performance into the gallery wing of the spacious opera house with its lovely art and old photographs along the walls and a few divans and tables. Nataly was surrounded by a tide of people—her audience and the still-painted faces of some of her cast who had come out also to soak in praise. She too felt like one of the cast, except she was still in character. The ultimate high society woman—busy host and poised lady, both somehow at the same time; a position her mother had raised her from a young age to command. It obviously showed. She saw only glowing faces and knew her own must be endearingly flushed and sparkling.

She felt as if she were repeating the same lines. "Thank you so very much." "Yes, it's beautiful isn't it? Even better than before…" "Yes, our new soprano is outstanding; we've all been so delighted. Her voice has such a pleasant ring." "Our next performance will be in a few months." "Thank you, monsieur, you're too kind…"

It seemed no one wanted to leave; this, after all, was a perfect place to socialize. Nataly wanted very much to sit on one of the sofas against the wall but forced her soon-to-be-aching cheeks into all smiles as Dame Fitzroy told her animatedly about her nephews and the luncheon she was to be hosting next week. After she had moved on to a new audience, Nataly's attention was claimed by a number of young men of society, all holding champagne glasses they attempted to offer her and a few presenting her with a rose. Caught up in the atmosphere, the champagne, and her triumph, Nataly enjoyed their attention. But even at times when she did not, the rules of etiquette demanded smiles and graciousness. It was only late into the evening when the majority had left that she was able to escape into her own office. She sat at her desk and put her head down on her arms. Motionless, she felt just how much the many offered glasses of champagne had caught up to her. What she needed now was quiet. And then she would go home to bed.

The door swung open.

"Nataly! Nataly, our sweet mademoiselle, we are celebrating behind the stage—come join us!" It was her leading man, still in costume and grinning ear to ear, red in the face from drinking.

She stood and kissed his face lightly on the cheek. "Dear man, I confess I have a headache tonight. Extend my apologies to everyone… After all this excitement I think some rest is in order for me."

"Well, alright, do what you will. For my part, _I_ am going to get very drunk!"

She laughed. "Seems you're already closing in on that goal. Enjoy yourself, do." She kissed him again and he left her.

Expecting she would not be left alone in her office, she went out and began climbing staircases toward her private rooms to rest and collect herself before calling for a carriage. She was still holding a number of roses given to her by many hands. On the second floor, black shoes and pants descended into her range of view and she moved over a bit unsteadily against the staircase wall to allow whoever it was to pass her going down.

"Monsieur," she greeted dizzily.

Two gloved hands caught her shoulders gently.

"Are you alright, mademoiselle?"

She looked up into the masked face, startled; she had not expected to run into him.

"Yes, only I am feeling a bit dizzy, monsieur, that is all. Stairs are sometimes not…friendly things." As she said so, she swayed a bit to the side and his touch to her shoulders moved her back into balance.

"Quite."

Was that a smile on his face? She couldn't tell whether or not he was mocking her and that was a problem. She didn't have all her wits and didn't like being vulnerable in front of him. It would give away some of her hard-earned power in their relationship. She attempted to collect herself. She held her bouquet of roses tightly, although she had forgotten for the moment what exactly it was she was holding.

"Truly there is no need to worry," she said in a steady voice, looking up into his unreadable eyes. "I'm perfectly alright and only need to sit for a while because of a headache and then I will be calling for a carriage."

She saw his eyes flick down to what was in her hands.

"Are those all from your _admirers_? Your high society boys?" His lip curled. "I'm sure they're all very charming now that this place is a success again."

She stared at him with a cool expression, not dignifying his comments with a response. "Goodnight to you, monsieur." She tried to move and realized his hands were still on her arms. "If you wouldn't mind."

"I'll have a carriage called for you." His voice was softer.

She closed her eyes. "No, please, I should like some time to sit down. It's only some champagne and I shan't go home to my father without… I mean, in this…" She closed her eyes again. Her knees were unsteady. "Truly, I would like to sit down."

"Here, let us sit right here," the Phantom replied softly and brought her down to sit with him on the staircase. "Better?"

She took a deep breath and nodded, pulling away from him. "Thank you, but I really don't need anyone's help, I'm not unwell or incapacitated or anything of the sort."

"Wasn't it you who said we all needed friends, mademoiselle?"

"Is that what you are? Because I thought you were mocking me."

"Only a little."

Was it her state of mind or did his voice sound more tender than usual?

"Neither of us enjoy being mocked, monsieur."

"You do so an uncommon amount for someone who doesn't like it aimed at herself."

"_I_ mock in a loving way. I don't mean it at all. You mock…"

"How do I mock?"

"In a _spiteful_ way. You're spiteful." She felt like a child again. She was glad to be sitting and oddly glad that he of all people was the person sitting next to her. "I'm genuinely offended by you and no one could ever be offended by me."

"Oh yes? Never?"

"Never. And you know why I have roses? Because the opera we all just put on made people happy. And I've never gotten roses before, _Monsieur Phantom_, so you can just—"

"Hush. No need to be cross."

She started giggling and hid her face in the roses. They smelled lovely. "You're telling someone _else_ not to be cross, oh that's rich…"

"Hush." His voice was still light and tender.

Nataly leaned her head against the wall of the staircase and closed her eyes.

"What should we put on next?" she asked, her eyes still closed but her voice animated. "Let's do something exciting. Let's do something _you_ wrote."

"Yes, because the last time worked out so grandly."

Nataly laughed a little. "I suppose we shouldn't get ahead of ourselves… Plus, you're not in love with the soprano this time around."

There was a beat of silence that Nataly hardly noticed in which the Phantom's body went very still. Then he replied slowly, "True. Keeps things uncomplicated, doesn't it?"

"Yes…uncomplicated." She mused over the word. "Love makes everyone irrational, as a general rule."

"Have you ever been?" His voice was quiet.

"Oh… I've thought myself in love a few times. But no, not really, I don't think. I suppose I don't know. Maybe I'm not cut out for it." She laughed under her breath for some reason. "It was such a good show tonight, monsieur. I'm so happy."

"It was a pleasure to watch. You've done well. With the cast, the crew, the building. Everything."

She sat up straight and looked very intently at him with her sparkling dark brown eyes.

"Thank you," she said sincerely. "That means a lot to me. Coming from you. You have the best taste." Her face suddenly spilt into a smile again as if she thought her last sentence was funny somehow. He felt himself smiling back a little, crookedly.

"Now," she said, and touched him on the nose with a finger to his very great surprise and much blinking, "I am going to the attic to sit and then I will get myself a carriage and I will _not_ have you doing anything for me or thinking it's your job to carry me anywhere or anything of the sort!" She stood up and added, "Besides. You're not that _gallant_."

"I beg your pardon," he growled indignantly and moved to put his arms under her to showcase just how gallantly he could swing her up into them.

"No!" she exclaimed and swatted him soundly on the chest. "That's exactly what I do not want! Just like all the young men I had to deal with tonight—spiffy little show ponies! I happen to be able to get my own champagne and climb my own stairs." And with that, she began walking up the stairs toward the attic.

The Phantom watched her go, the yearning in his eyes wordlessly speaking his desire to remain near her. But he respectfully allowed her to go her way and went back down the stairs. He spent some time spying on the raucous cast party backstage and then, wondering how he was going to get Nataly a carriage without revealing himself, looked out the windows and saw by the light of the lamps outside that her father had sent one back for her and it was waiting dutifully. He recognized the handsome horses.

When he climbed the stairs back to her he found the door to the attic was wide open and Nataly was asleep in her fine dress on her back on her bed, her legs, bent at the knees, hanging down off the edge of it. The Phantom's body began to tremble and he stepped backward back out of her room and slid down against the wall outside of it, dropping the black rose he had brought with him to the floor.

He put his head in his hands. _No_. Why was he so masochistic as to torture himself again? Was he so _stupid_ as to fall under the power of _every_ enchanting woman that happened to enter his opera house? There had been such agony over Christine that he thought he would never _breathe_ again let alone love. Would he keep destroying himself, burning his heart to ash until there was nothing left of him and then he would finally be finished? He quaked with fear and helplessness. Damn them! Damn them! How could he fight? How could he stop what had already begun, had already bloomed and taken deep root in his soul? How could he stop this landslide toward destruction? She was perfect, beautiful, witty, and so, so endearing in the youthful joy and laughter he had seen in her heart tonight. She washed him clean of all anger, bitterness, damage, old sins. Ah, ah, ah…

_Why_?

Dear god, _why_?

Hope stung. He was too embittered, too knowing of the world and of women now to hope for what he had hoped for with Christine. He would be unmasked and unwanted yet again. She was everything now. And she was the death of him.

He breathed deeply. Perhaps it was better to go out like this. Out in fire, not cold and old in the dark. He wasn't afraid of death. He felt as if he had already died once. There were no more surprises when it came to pain and emptiness.

He stood and walked into her attic room. Her roses lay on the white desk and he placed the one he had brought her among them. She lay on the bed. As a man, the sight of her shot right into both heart and groin. She looked like an angel, and because she was sleeping he did not have to guard his expressions and he gazed at her with unabashed desire on his face. He wanted to cradle her to him. To fold her gently into his arms and let her drift to sleep inside of them. He wanted to fall asleep—here—with his arms tight around her. He ached with want of it.

He crossed to her and touched her hand.

"Nataly."

She stirred but didn't awaken.

He repeated the touch. "Nataly." _Nataly darling_.

Her eyes opened slowly. Before he could say anything else, she asked him softly, like a child, "What is your name?"

"Perhaps when we know each other better," he answered quietly.

"It's always going to be like that with us, isn't it?" she sighed.

"…You should get home."

She blinked slowly at him and looked down at herself and around. A warm blush was rising to her cheeks.

"You shouldn't be here," she said.

"When you never left I came back to check if you were alright. The door was open. You wanted to go home, remember?"

She put a hand to her head. "I can stay here."

"What about your father? He sent a carriage—it's outside."

"Is it? Oh…"

"Come on." He brought her gently to her feet and went over to pick up her roses. "Here are your roses. The black one is from me." He put them into her hands and she gazed at them. Then looked up at him.

"Thank you." She walked over and blew out the lamp that was lighting the room. They were pitched into darkness. He moved toward the dim light of the doorway and heard her following. She shut and locked the door with a key taken from inside the bodice of her dress; he pretended not to notice. She slipped the key back down between her breasts and strode in front of him down the stairs and toward the main doors.

"Mademoiselle," he murmured, stopping her. She turned, looking irritated. Her cheeks were an even deeper shade of pink. "I part with you here."

"Goodnight, monsieur."

He took up her hand gently and kissed it in a polite parting gesture. "Please do not be embarrassed, mademoiselle. There is no reason. Have a good night." He nodded to her and walked away. Nataly also turned and found her coat before continuing toward the heavy main doors. She opened them, stepped out into the night air, and went to her father's carriage standing patiently at the curb.


	6. Chapter 6: Stricture

**Chapter 6: Stricture**

**I**t was weeks before they spoke again. He imagined she wanted space. Although that did not keep him from watching her move about the opera house from his secret places. Once in a while she would look around her, toward corners of ceilings and mirrors, which told him he couldn't be far from her mind, either.

He listened from the ceiling as she and Madame Giry spoke in her office below.

"And so the Phantom as agreed to compromise?" Giry asked Nataly, sipping at a cup of hot tea she had brought in to the office. "I can hardly believe that, but I am very glad of it."

"As am I. He's to be included in our discussions, paid, given that box he likes, and left alone. He's touchy but ultimately reasonable. We can respect each other."

Madame Giry was genuinely very pleased at this news. "And I thought this opera house was cursed…I didn't think he was going to let anyone run it anymore."

The office door opened.

"Enough talking about me like I can't hear every word," the Phantom said as he walked in and closed the door behind him. He stood against the wall of Nataly's office as if he were right at home.

"On the contrary, I always assume you can," Madame Giry replied.

Nataly chuckled, nodding. "Me too. You've made paranoids out of both of us, Monsieur Phantom, aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"Certainly not. Now. Let's have one of our so-called 'discussions'."

"Alright then. I'd like to choose our next opera soon. Do you have any suggestions?"

"You know mine already: something more serious in nature. Other than that, the choice is up to you."

"I've been considering _La traviata_, _Tristan and Isolde_, or _Aida_."

"Romantic tragedies."

"Yes."

"_Aida_ is beautiful."

"I like _La traviata_," commented Madame Giry.

"Then we're between those two. I may put it to the cast and have them decide between the two."

"Good idea," said Madame.

The Phantom nodded, then said, "I have some reservations as to whether or not Danielle would be the right soprano for either of those. Her voice is lovely, but light. For a romantic tragedy perhaps we should use someone with more depth."

"And share the spotlight so we don't end up with another Carlotta," added Madame.

"I was thinking the same—Lousia has the perfect voice," Nataly replied.

"Yes, though she's self-conscious on stage," the Phantom stated.

"I've noticed that as well, but she's a grown woman and I hired her for the stage, so she shall have to get over it." She looked at him. "Was she who you had in mind, or…?"

"No, no, Lousia should perform. I might advice some extra practices though." He walked over to Nataly's desk and took from it a news print on modern opera that she had been reading earlier. "May I?" he asked, interested.

She nodded and gestured to it saying, "Once we're firmly established as a reputable performing company and old patrons are no longer afraid of coming in here" —she gave the Phantom a pointed look— "then I should like to start experimenting with more modern styles, innovations. Perhaps even controversial themes."

"You mentioned you liked making old ladies squirm."

"Yes, although I don't want us to get a negative reputation, either. Just push the boundaries a little bit. Artistically." She smiled. "I was encouraged by the turnout to our opening."

Madame Giry nodded. "So was I. I had not expected a good audience, at least not at the beginning."

"Well of course MademoiselleBenoit's name precedes her," the Phantom said, perhaps a bit wryly.

"Perhaps," Nataly conceded.

"Well, is there any more business to be discussed?" the Phantom asked. When Nataly shook her head, he moved toward the door saying, "Then I look forward to watching the rehearsals for whichever is chosen. Good day, madames."

Madame Giry's eyes were very wide.

"What is it?" Nataly asked her.

"So polite!" she exclaimed softly. "I can hardly believe it. I have known him most of his life and I have never heard him behave so…"

"Normally?"

"Well, yes."

"We were all affected by the catastrophe last season," Nataly murmured. "Perhaps he wants that same result as little as we do and is willing to change his behavior for it."

"Yes, perhaps," Madame agreed slowly, though her eyes were critical and she seemed to be looking at Nataly in a slightly new light, as if the phantom's behavior had been revealing somehow. Whatever her new suspicions were, she kept them to herself.

Nataly proposed the two possibilities of their next performance to the crew that evening; the consensus was _La traviata_ because "_Aida_ was overdone". Nataly was pleased because_ La traviata_, The Fallen Woman, was a tad more risqué, though it lacked anything that compared to _Aida_'s magnificent tenor aria, _Celeste Aida. _

Once that was decided she left the beginning preparations to her employees and returned home. She answered a number of letters, dined with her mother, and then retired early. Lying in bed, Nataly could not keep her mind away from returning to the Phantom. Her thoughts were like streams of water that could do nothing but run from high ground to low.

She worried she had let him in to close to her. She had wanted to maintain a cordial business partnership with the man… Did he still respect her? Too many lines had been crossed that night of their first performance. He had seen her vulnerable, had babied her like a child. The memory of it still made her cheeks hot. She valued her independence—she valued proving wrong the men who think women are irrational, overly emotional, and weak. If his estimation of her had shifted, she had to work to put it back where it should be. There could be no more slipups.

And for the love of God, no more champagne.

She rolled onto her other side and tucked her knees up closer, trying to change the current of her thoughts. Instead she pictured his masked face, heard his low voice in her head, felt the comfort and rush of his closeness, felt his hands on her. She stirred and tightened between her thighs and her eyes snapped open.

Ugh, yes, she was attracted to him—there was no point in trying to lie to herself. But it was because he was so masculine, dangerous, and secretive. Everyone loves a mystery and a dark past, and every woman responds to that kind of latent physical power. She was human. The trick was she couldn't let those feelings take the forefront when she interacted with him—she had to keep her far more important wants at the fore.

But even with that stricture in mind, as she drifted into sleep the Phantom was as close as her thoughts, and in the dream she slipped into, he lay her down on the attic bed, his lips on hers.


	7. Chapter 7: Madhouse

**Chapter 7: Madhouse**

**I**t had been a busy couple of weeks.

Nataly had taken her ill mother to Paris' most renowned doctors but none of them seemed to do much good for all the money Nataly paid them. When she was not in bed, the Madame Benoit was irritable, and though Nataly loved her dearly, she became fatigued of traveling with her. Since the traveling didn't seem to be doing her mother either good or bad, Nataly's father, armed with a number of new medicines and exercises the doctors had prescribed, decided to take her to tour some of Europe so that she could see more sights than just the inside of her bedroom. Nataly thought he was a saint for taking the care of her upon himself because she knew they sometimes quarreled and he could get just as tired of her as his daughter could.

But their departure was a relief to Nataly as she felt she had been neglecting the _Opera Populaire_. It could technically get along without her, but she liked to personally see to business matters and also to be involved with the putting together of the performances.

The place was bustling when she stepped inside and, as she had predicted, she had much to catch up with.

…

Finally getting to her office, Nataly looked a bit hastily through the pile of letters and papers that had complied on her desk; two were of particular interest—one a letter of business and the other a letter of heavy parchment sealed with a red wax skull. She frowned at the latter but took the two letters with her to read on her way to the underground portion of the opera house. She had been told the decorators she had hired were having difficulties accessing these sections and wanted to see what the problem might be for herself.

The stone passages looked fine to her—comfortable and pleasing—through she ran into a problem when she ran out of passageway. Nataly stood in front of a stone dead end, holding the letter of business she had skimmed on the walk down and the Phantom's unopened letter—and scowled. She knew there was more to this passage.

She pushed against it and then tried to pull, convinced it had to be a door of some kind. She felt along the sides and smirked when the tips of her fingers fit in along the right side of the wall. She grasped the wall and heaved. Nothing. Undaunted, she searched along the stones for an unlocking mechanism; something that would free the fake wall from the actual wall. Her fingertips found what felt like a small piece of wood at the level of her waist in the indent between the walls and it pushed in against the pressure of her fingers. She heard a satisfying click and then tried to heave the wall aside again. It slid heavily straight to the left, into the left wall. It only slid aside about halfway but that was enough for her to get through.

She did not encounter any more tricks but didn't want to let herself down into the Phantom's abode so she took a way she hoped would get her back out again. Unfortunately little by little she lost her bearings as to which way was which and finally found herself in a small room with a mirrored ceiling and four doors that looked exactly alike which she had never come across before and let out a noise of frustration.

She reached for a handle but before she could pull it open a voice snapped from above "Not that one."

Nataly glared at the mirrored ceiling as she brushed her hair from her face. "Some madhouse you have here! I'd like a _word_."

The Phantom answered with an incoherent growl and she heard his shoes move to the right across the ceiling. A minute later he opened one of the identical doors. He was wearing a half mask that only covered his face on the right and she had never seen him with that before. He looked very cross and advanced upon her in a menacing manner.

"You skulk through my private space because you'd like _a word_?" he demanded. "I thought we agreed I would not be encroached upon down here! Do you break your promises so easily?"

"I wasn't aware that your 'private space' included a great deal of the passageways down here—I hired decorators to make the halls better lit and more comfortable but they have been complaining of not finding access to the rest of the underground area. I came down to see what the problem was and, and you see, became lost on my way back."

"You're lucky I found you when I did or you would be very wet right now with perhaps a broken ankle."

"Someone could get lost and die down here, you know!"

"_Yes, they could_." His eyes flashed. "What better way to deter people from attempting to find their way through?"

"I do _not_ like having a deadly labyrinth below this opera house!"

"I do not _care_. You do not seem to comprehend how seriously I take my privacy. I would also be in danger if it were easy to get to me down here. I have made a lot of enemies and many I have not even wronged would see me destroyed because they think I am a child of the devil." His voice was a cutting hiss.

"There are some who can look past your appearance," Nataly said, her voice softer for the first time since he had entered the room.

"_Wrong_!" he growled. "They might pretend to because of some self-righteous sense of compassion—but it is all selfish. 'Look how I can accept him, look how Christian I am' while behind it they're just as disgusted, just as glad it's not _them_ as everyone else."

"You will not believe any of my arguments and you have seen more of the world's cruelty than I have and so I will not even try. But I do know that I respect you as a man and you would be the same man whether you had four eyes or green skin. If you always write off goodness in people as self-righteousness then you might as well kill yourself right now because you will be miserable until the moment you die."

"Obviously I am bitter but not hopeless because I have yet to take myself out of the world."

"Good. Now. I apologize for letting myself into your personal spaces. Sometimes I can be terribly bullheaded and puzzling out your tricks was like a game so I was enjoying the challenge too much to stop. But I won't do so again."

"Where did you first get in?"

"I found the latch in the fake dead-end in the corridor bellow the costuming rooms."

He looked surprised. "Hm."

"So, I will call off the effort to make comfortable the areas beyond your blockages. But what if I needed to get in touch with you immediately?"

He gazed at her a few moments, deliberating, and then said quietly, "Follow me."

She followed him out through the door he'd come in and then back through corridors to the secret door she had come through at first. He turned a looked at her.

"Now, pay attention to the path I take you." His voice was low and soft. Intimate. Nataly unconsciously moved forward, close to him. "It will be your path only. I'll trust you with it." Hesitance to do so burned in the back of his eyes, but so did something else. Nataly felt herself nodding.

She followed him, memorizing the way. They went down and down and finally came to a heavy, locked stone door.

"I keep this door bolted," he said, "but if you need me and I am in here, I will be able to hear if you stand here and call."

She looked up at him. "Thank you."

He didn't respond, only looked at her. "You were gone for a long time, I worried you had abandoned us."

Nataly smiled, seeing in his eyes that he didn't mean that. "You know I never would. …My mother has been in need of me."

"How is she?"

"No better."

"I am sorry to hear that."

"Thank you."

"You were missed here."

"I'm flattered." Her dreams of him pressing his mouth down on hers fluttered in her mind. They were too close to the possibility of being realized for comfort. It didn't help that the new half-mask allowed her to see every angle of half of his face and that half was more handsome than she'd been allowing herself to think. His eyes were so…there wasn't a word for it. They had such depth and darkness.

"I…" She began, mentally reproaching herself for losing her thoughts for a moment. "I must be returning now—I have dinner plans."

"With whom?"

She frowned. "Is it important?"

He said nothing. Then, "Would you like me to show you out?"

"I would appreciate that, yes, thank you."

He led her until she was certain of her way and then they parted.


	8. Chapter 8: Thief

**Chapter 8: Thief**

**T**he Phantom's letter turned out to contain a few requests for changes to the performance being rehearsed. They were not changes Nataly would have thought to make, but they were reasonable and she brought about all but one of them.

She and the opera ghost did not see one another for some time after she had wandered into his privacy; at least two months. She lost the habit of warily glancing up at the ceiling or at mirrors but always spoke in conversations as if he were listening so as to make sure not to accidentally offend him. Since he was unknown and invisible to the crew they had lost much of their fear of his specter and whether Nataly heard jokes being made at his expense, she always called for him to be spoken of with respect.

There were a few times she caught herself wishing she would find him when she rounded corners or that he would come upon her in her office, but he did not. As the rehearsals began to tighten and wind toward an impressive final product, she found one more letter on her desk one morning and she implemented the few final adjustments that he asked for.

Society was courting her in the buildup to her next show, and she had dinner sometimes three evenings a week with different notable personages. She enjoyed the company of some and tolerated the others. The price to pay for giving offense was high in those circles, and generally unnecessary given the courtesy and gratifying admiration that she was met with.

Still, she was often lonely in her house with her mother and father gone from it, so she spent most of her days with her cast and crew at the _Populaire_.

It was only an hour and a half after she had finally seen a touring society couple from a few districts away out the front door and Nataly was tired after a long day. She was waiting beside the grand front doors for her carriage to arrive so that she could go home and go to bed when one of the men who took care of the property burst in the door.

"MademoiselleBenoit!" he cried. "We've apprehended a criminal in the stables!"

"_What_?" She gathered her skirts up and followed him at a rapid pace out into the moonless night toward their small stable where visitor's horses were kept and where one of the neighbors of the opera house was allowed to keep his horses at night.

She followed into the unfamiliar place that smelled of hay and saw two other men with their backs to her in the back of the stable, one holding a horse whip and the other a long block of wood. They were facing a man on his knees in the hay.

"He looks like a thief!" said the man leading her. He looked a little too happy about this probably brutal capture of a trespasser. Nataly's expression was puckered in displeasure until she grew close enough to recognize the bound and slightly-beaten man on his knees.

"Alright," she commanded, keeping a cool head. "I will call the appropriate authorities in a discreet manner. I appreciate the initiative of you three in apprehending this man. Please return to the opera house and tell no one about this incident—I should not like word to spread that masked thieves wander into my stables. Go, please."

"Mademoiselle, you sure you don't want a man to stay with—"

"I will have others join me shortly."

"Yes, mademoiselle."

"Thank you for your work."

"You're welcome, mademoiselle. Be careful, mademoiselle."

The three left.

Nataly watched them return inside and then dropped to her knees beside the Phantom. His head was hanging and he was fighting for consciousness. She unbound his hands and he shook himself a little. His head was bruised and bleeding from what looked like a blow from the block of wood. He was not wearing his usual fine clothing, but a white undershirt and dirty black pants. He had on a black mask over both sides of his face. Nataly took his face in her hands to inspect the injury. He put his hands gently on her arms.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

"Of course. I'm so sorry that happened."

"I wasn't expecting anyone to return to the stables and they… I haven't been overpowered like that in a long time."

"I'm so sorry."

"You handled it well…I…the…" Consciousness slipped from him and his upper body fell slowly toward her. She caught him gently and let his head fall to her shoulder. She pulled him over to a less noticeable corner of the stable and then attempted to rouse him. She touched his cheek and patted his chest. "Phantom? Monsieur Phantom?"

His eyes opened slowly and he looked up at her from her arms.

"Nataly?"

"You're not alright. We should get you inside. How can I enter unnoticed?"

He closed his eyes and sat up a little, gingering touching his fingers to his head. He groaned softly and answered, "There's a side door with stairs directly inside…"

"Would it take me to the attic?"

"Yes, it can."

"Come, I'll help you." She put his arm around her shoulder so that she could support his weight, and they snuck out the back way and in the side entrance. She was glad it was so dark a night—no one watching would be able to see them. The flights of stairs were on ordeal but finally they reached the attic. Nataly sat him down on her bed in the darkness and lit a couple candles so that they could see. She wet a cloth from the washbasin and began to clean his face and head and swatted his hand away when he tried to do it instead.

Blood had stained his mask and had dripped beneath it, but when she made to remove it he caught her hand fast.

"Don't."

"I've seen you unmasked, remember?"

"Please don't," he whispered. Nataly sighed but dropped her hand.

"Then here." She handed the cloth to him and turned her back.

"Alright," he said after a few seconds. She took back the cloth and continued cleaning his forehead. When he was relatively free of blood she put the cloth in the basin to soak and sat down next to him again. His eyes were closed. She gently pushed him down onto the bed and he did not resist. He groaned and put a hand to his head which she pushed away.

"Please don't gut my stable hand for this," she said to him.

He grimaced. "If not a gutting, a beating then."

"Not that either."

"Whipping?"

"No."

"Can I hang him?"

"_No_."

"Call his mother a wine-guzzling whore?"

"…Yes."

"And then hang him?"

"No! I am asking you do not administer punishment to any of these gentlemen."

"'Gentlemen'!"

"Stop yelling, you've undergone a hefty blow to the head."

"I wasn't yelling."

Nataly laughed a little under her breath. The Phantom sighed, his eyes still closed. Nataly gazed at him, caught up in how much in that moment she wanted to lower her mouth to kiss any part of his face.

"Well, I guess we're even now. As far as taking care of each other," he muttered. When she said nothing he opened his eyes a crack and saw the heat on her cheeks.

"Er, what?" she mumbled.

"We're even," he murmured back.

"Yes." She lowered her eyes with a gust of willpower. She moved away from him.

"You should probably stay lying down for a while, but I have a carriage that is probably waiting outside for me by now… You may stay here but please shut the door when you leave."

"I think I'm fine." He stood and immediately put a hand to his head. "Oof. Perhaps not…" He sat back down. "I don't want to get blood on your sheets…"

"You haven't gotten any on them and you're not bleeding anymore," she said gently. "It's fine."

The Phantom heaved himself backwards so that he was completely on the bed and then closed his eyes and lay down with a groaning sigh. Nataly touched his head once more to double-check his wound and then left him in her room, closing the door behind her when she left.

…

Nataly wasn't able to return to the opera house until the evening of the following day but the moment she entered her office, the Phantom came in after her, silent as a ghost as always.

She turned toward him and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"In full health, thank you."

She looked at him suspiciously.

"Really? I think probably you're still achy but too proud to admit it."

He scowled, but then it relaxed again into a half-smile.

"Correct, as usual."

"Most certainly not as usual," she replied. "Especially when it concerns you." She looked over at her desk. "I have your salary early if you'd like it."

"It can wait."

"Well, I shan't leave an envelope of bills on my desk, but when you'd like it" —she tucked it in between books on her small bookcase— "it's in here."

"Alright." His gaze rested on her again. "You've installed a window in the attic. I hadn't noticed it last night."

"Stained glass." She smiled. "It took some time for the men to put in, but it's lovely."

He nodded.

"How do you like the performance?" she asked him. It's almost ready. Everyone's been working hard and Lousia has been stepping up."

The Phantom nodded. "It will be an excellent performance and will be very well received, as I think you know."

"It's still nice to hear it." She smiled. "So, monsieur. May I ask what you were doing in the stables last night?"

"My business is my own."

"Of course…I don't mean to pry."

The Phantom opened his mouth to say something else but there was a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Nataly asked.

"Only me," came Madame Giry's voice.

"Just you?"

"Yes."

"Do come in."

Giry opened the door and looked unsurprised to see the Phantom—his presence would be the only reason Nataly would ask who it was.

"Evening, monsieur Phantom," she greeted him, then turned to Nataly. "I apologize for the interruption, but the cast wanted your approval of a few last-minute changes before they went home for the night."

"Of course," Nataly replied, nodding. She looked to the Phantom. "Evening, monsieur."

"Evening, mademoiselle."

She followed Madame Giry out and to the theatre. While she sat in a row in the middle watching parts of the performance, she saw the shadow of the Phantom in box five. His presence was distracting; she wanted to be near him, talking with him, immersed in their back-and-forth instead of watching her cast.

"I have no complaints!" she called out when they were finished. "I don't think complaints are possible. I love the changes and Friday night's show will be magnificent!"

The cast cheered, self-satisfied, and then broke apart to change out of costume and go home. Nataly went to the far side of the theatre and climbed the narrow stairs to box five, but when she got there, the Phantom had gone.


	9. Chapter 9: Bear the Horse

**Chapter 9: Bear the Horse**

**T**he evening before the next day's performance Nataly was up a bit late in her office, tending to some last minute business. The place was quiet and it seemed like she was the only person in the opera house. Which she almost never felt like.

Where was the Phantom?

She kept expecting his quiet knock. Hoping for it, even. She shook her head and chided herself. The phantom filled her thoughts when she was here and even sometimes when she was elsewhere. She had grown too fond of his company.

Finishing her work, she left her papers on the desk and left the room, blowing out her candles as she went. She paused in a hallway and looked out the window—it happened to look out on the stables. Curiosity suddenly roused, she decided to go see if she could figure out what had brought the phantom out to the stable the other night. What secrets did he have there?

She slipped on her wool coat and stepped out into the cool night. As she crossed the dewy grass and drew near she could hear the snuffling of the horses inside. It was very dark. She had to blindly fumble for the latch. The horses had gone quiet. She pulled open the door and as soon as she took a step in she was seized by a massive, dark figure and slammed against the wood wall.

She gasped in shock and fear and immediately the hold on her let up.

"_Nataly_?" the Phantom growled in surprise. "_Mon dieu_! You should know better than to try and sneak up on me here after what happened!"

Nataly couldn't speak. She was too shaken from his rough handling, the sudden physicality of his touch, and the blinding darkness. The only light was from a small lamp at the very back of the stable and its light did not quite reach them.

The Phantom squinted down at her, only barely able to make out her features in the dark.

"Are you alright?" His tone was much softer. "You're not hurt?"

She shook her head slowly. The Phantom took her elbow and moved them both further inside toward the lamp's light.

When he could see her better he looked down into her face again intently. She gazed back.

"What are you doing here?" he asked her.

"What are you?"

"I…" He didn't seem to have an answer. Suddenly a long, dark brown nose reached out over its stall gate and brushed him on the cheek. Nataly smiled as the Phantom reached up to stoke the muzzle of the handsome horse, looking embarrassed. It was an expression she had never before seen on him and it was an endearing one.

She then understood that he had been spending time with the horses for company but did not embarrass him further by commenting upon it. She reached out to stroke the side of the large brown head also. The horse snorted and moved toward her and she flinched away.

"He's nothing to be afraid of," he said. "This is Bear."

"'Bear'?"

"Bear the horse."

"That's silly." She petted Bear and he snorted again. It sounded content. Bear moved to place his head on the Phantom's shoulder and the Phantom lifted a hand to pat him as if he were very used to it all. Nataly couldn't help but smile at this new insight into the opera ghost.

He cleared his throat. Nataly waited for him to say something but apparently he could think of nothing. Neither could she.

Bear huffed out some air suddenly from his nostrils and she took a small involuntary step back. The Phantom chuckled at her.

"Bear and I, we can both smell fear," he said, mock-ominously. Nataly shot him a look and collected her skirts.

"I should be getting home, Monsieur Phantom," she said. "There is nothing left for me to do before the performance, so we shan't see each other until then."

He nodded in the old-fashioned way of his. "I look forward to the performance. Have a goodnight, mademoiselle."

"And you," she said softly.

"You don't need accompaniment back?"

"I managed to get here on my own; I imagine I'll be able to get back."

He was now so accustomed to her often-stubborn independence that the ghost of a smirk crossed his lips. He nodded again; she turned and made her way carefully out of the dark stables and through the night back toward the quietly waiting carriage that would take her home to an empty house. She would rather have stayed in her room here, but her home afforded all the luxuries necessary to pretty herself for the near performance and its inherent social obligations. As the carriage rocked soothingly over the cobbles, the sudden smile that had stretched the Phantom's mouth tonight when Bear's head had brushed him kept etching itself in her mind.


	10. Chapter 10: A Name

**Chapter 10: A Name**

**N**ataly perched anxiously on the edge of her velvet box seat surrounded by a couple friends and some important acquaintances. The box she was seated in was on the far upper right, so she could see a bit into the left offstage area, and saw that one of the ropes was slack—meaning one of the pulleys tucked backstage was stuck. It had happened once before in rehearsal and she knew that if none of the crew members backstage caught the problem, it would ruin the two final scenes.

Still seeing no one correct the problem, Nataly excused herself with a very quiet whisper and exited the box from behind. She moved through the narrow, dark corridors, darting through back hallways towards the back of the stage from behind as quietly as possible. She felt her way behind a wooden wall to where the pulleys were rigged and tried to see in the blackness. From the stage in front, she could hear Lousia's lovely voice rising up.

As she moved toward where she knew the problem to be, the floor boards creaked, giving away someone else's presence, and her outstretched hand touched the fingertips of someone else's outstretched hand.

Two intakes of breath, two hands pulled back in surprise.

"Hello?" Nataly whispered cautiously.

"It's me," came the Phantom's soft voice.

"Of course it is," she breathed, her blood humming.

"I saw the problem from out there as well," he said softly. "Let me fix it." His deft hands found the ropes in the dark and quickly loosened them and the metal fastenings. "There."

"Thank you…" Not knowing exactly where he was, she moved forward slowly, hands in front of her. When they touched him, she splayed her fingers lightly on his chest. "There you are," she whispered. He smelled heady, like leather with a touch of sweat.

The blackness, the closeness, and the ringing beauty of the opera being movingly sung from the stage so close seemed to affect them both in the same way. He placed his gloved hands on her hips and she leaned forward against him. They could see nothing; there was only touch and breath. Everything before, every word and touch they had exchanged, seemed now a tide that had been kept back and building, and now its force could not be turned.

Her hands slid upward until they touched his neck, his face.

"Nataly…" he murmured. The sound traveled down into her bones, warmed them, and left a deep ache. She felt his breath on her face as his head lowered toward her. Their noses touched, and then their lips. Heat and electricity surged through her body, keeping thought an impossibility. She felt a whimper rise in her throat and escape. Her hands rested limply on his shoulders; she had forgotten the existence of anything but their mouths.

He sighed, low and deep, and she felt her body respond—she clenched deliciously between her legs. Her tongue moved lightly against his bottom lip and he took her whole mouth with his, consuming her, his arms tight around her body. She wanted to sink into him and never part from that embrace.

The pulleys began to move beside them, but Nataly was deaf to it. He was the entire world in that moment. His scent, his taste, his touch was all she had room for.

There was the sudden creak of approaching footsteps and suddenly the Phantom had let her go and was moving away from her. Nataly reached out blindly but her fingertips only grazed his disappearing figure. The footsteps were close now.

"Hello?" someone whispered.

"Hello, yes, it's me," she whispered back, unable to keep a hoarse, breathless note of longing out of her voice. Her heart was pounding madly.

"MademoiselleBenoit?"

"Yes—is it Franz?"

"Yes, mademoiselle. Why are you—is something wrong? The pulleys?"

"I just fixed them. They had gotten stuck again and I knew they needed to be righted before this act."

"Oh, mademoiselle, thank you, I'm so sorry I didn't check—that could have ruined—"

"It's quite alright, but if you would kindly watch them for the rest of the performance, I should like to get back to my seat."

"Of course, mademoiselle, of course."

"Thank you, Franz." Their blind and whispered conversation ended, Nataly very slowly and cautiously made her way out from the dark backstage. Her heart was still beating too fast and she kept hoping that a black gloved hand would slip into hers out of nowhere and pull her against him again. She didn't want it just to be a kiss in the dark; she wanted to kiss him in every way, everywhere…

She closed her eyes briefly as she was walking. She should not have put the match to that blaze, but at the moment she certainly could not regret it. It might destroy everything. It was exactly what she had known she needed to avoid. There was no avoiding it now. And God help her, she didn't _want_ to. He lit her veins afire. Not only that, but she felt… She cared for him. Wanted to protect him same as she desired protection.

She laughed to herself a little. As much as she cared for her opera and doing her duty as a lady of society, all she wanted to do was find him again and have him wrap her up in his arms. She shivered. Did she even really know the man? But she remembered the night in the stable and warm affection replaced her doubts. His secret was hidden kindness, not cruelty.

She returned to her box seat and whispered to the curious women around her about the necessity of liberating the ropes backstage. They all raised their fine eyebrows in appreciation. To them that must have sounded like high adventure and excitement. Nataly couldn't help but feel a little condescending of the ladies around her at the moment; Madame Laroche of her same age had not even known who had written _Anna Karenina _when Nataly brought it up in conversation earlier in the evening.

By the time the opera had finished, Nataly had become swept up again in its tragic plot and wept along with every other lady at its ending. Her heart was full of pride in her cast and crew. It had been a beautiful performance, far more powerful than their last had been. She stood and applauded along with every other audience member. Then she escorted those in her box down to the gallery wing where much of the audience was moving down to. The congratulations and compliments began and did not cease. Her cheeks began to ache from all her genuine smiles and she noticed that couples in the gallery were more affectionate toward their partners than usual. Romantic tragedies always made people feel amorous.

She allowed herself only one glass of champagne, and the second one she was offered she held for at least an hour and a half, always holding it up in apology when young men attempted to offer her more. The roses she always accepted, however—she loved them—although she always remarked that her cast and crew deserved them more. By the time the number of guests in the gallery began to dwindle, she had a handsome bouquet in her arm.

She put down her warm glass of champagne to kiss goodbye all her remaining guests. One particular guest lingered—and his lips lingered on her cheeks as he kissed her goodbye in front of the doors.

"Have a wonderful evening, Monsieur Durand."

"Please, Nataly, call me Jean. We're friends, are we not?" He gave her a winning smile, one she was sure often got him what he wanted. He was extraordinarily handsome and it had made him cocksure.

"Friends, monsieur?" She looked at him with mild surprise. "I only know your first name because you've just now told it to me."

He smirked, his eyes sparkling. "The first step toward becoming so. And what could help this blossoming friendship along than dining with my parents and me this Tuesday evening?"

"I have an engagement this Tuesday I'm afraid, monsieur. Perhaps another day this week would also suit Monsieur and Madame Durand?" She had no such engagement, and though courtesy forbid her refusal of such an offer, she could still make it on her own terms. She disliked the idea of having to bear the Durands for an entire evening; his parents were cold, arrogant people—some of her father's least favorite since even before she was born.

"Hmm." Her polite decline had taken him by surprise. "Perhaps Thursday? I shall have to confer with my parents and then I shall send you word."

"Please do, monsieur, I will be pleased to dine with your family." She had carefully chosen to once again call him 'monsieur' and to say his 'family' instead of 'you'. Her verbal parries had not taken him down as many pegs as she had hoped, however. He still gave her a smile as he replied, "I will be delighted as well, I'm sure," and closed the door behind him.

She went to the window, and when she saw him climbing into a carriage she growled to the empty entrance hall, "Arrogant hound. I will _not_ be barked up a tree." She marched moodily back into her theatre.

They were cleaning up. She walked to the stage upon the edge of which sat an opened bottle of red wine. She turned and lifted it up, calling out happily, "Everyone!" They all turned toward her, grinning, and most of her cast came out from backstage to hear her.

"Like everyone else in this theatre tonight, I wept at the end of that beautiful performance. You all did so well. I'm so proud of what we can all accomplish together and grateful of the talent of each and every one of you. I hope you're celebrating tonight. Leave the cleaning until tomorrow. Have a cheers!" She lifted the bottle up and laughter and shouts of cheer went up with it. Her leading man came out from backstage with bottles of wine and champagne in his arms and, laughing and cheering, everyone distributed them.

"And to our beautiful Mademoiselle Benoit!" called out young, lanky Franz, lifting a bottle the moment he was handed one. "Tonight's third act-saving, pulley-fixing heroine!"

Nataly laughed and laughed as they all cheered and raised bottles to her. She waved them off.

"To Lousia," Madame Giry called out in a strong, pleasant voice. "For her magnificent performance!"

"Hear, hear!" Nataly called among the cheering. She lingered to congratulate those of her cast and crew she hadn't been able to earlier in the evening, and then slipped away unnoticed with a small oil lamp and her bouquet of roses. She was tired, her cheeks ached, and her blood was still smoldering for the Phantom. She was hoping he would meet her on her way to her room upstairs, or in the attic hall. The hope quickened her steps.

But her lamp was the only light she found on the way and when she reached the top of the stairs she was alone. Her shoulders drooped and she sighed in disappointment.

"Expecting someone?"

She smiled and turned toward his voice. He was standing in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs.

"You, of course."

The Phantom climbed the stairs toward her and the lamplight illuminated his figure more by degrees. He was dressed handsomely with a white half mask on his face. She placed the lamp on the floor and stepped back slightly and then he was standing beside her. He held up a black rose.

"For your collection."

Nataly smiled a little and opened her arms to let her collection of roses fall to the floor. They made soft sounds, some cascading down the stairs. She then reached out, took his rose, and placed it beneath her nose to smell its fragrance.

She could tell the gesture had touched him; his eyes were the exact way she loved them best: shining softly with emotion and tenderness. Her heart and mind both fluttered. She had wanted never to let her guards down or to be foolish. But she was and, she realized, had been for a while now, falling in love with the Phantom of the Opera.

She reached up and touched his cheek gently where his skin was not covered by a mask. He gazed at her all the while. Her eyes lingered on his mask, trying to picture him without its rough shield. She wanted him without covers, gates, and clothes. Wanted all of him, hers only.

His eyes had hardened when she looked back into them.

"Perhaps you'd be more comfortable if there was no lamp," he said in a low, edged voice. "Then you could forget what I look like."

She stared at him. His words stung her more than she had thought they could. He had no idea that only a great movement of her heart would have allowed her to feel this way for a man. She guarded herself and her interests too closely. She slowly moved her arms back from him.

"If you think so, you do not know me nearly as well as I had thought. You do me injustice." With so much new and powerful emotion inside her, she was no longer a woman who could guard her feelings from an outside glance, and her eyes, unbidden, welled with clear, warm tears. Although she too did not know her love as well as she should have. If she had, she would have understood that such testy comments sprang from insecurity, and he said them with the desire to hear a reassurance of their falsehood.

She began to turn from him, but his soft hands on her arms stopped her. He was not wearing gloves and she gazed at his lovely, strong hands. "Nataly…"

She looked up and told him, "My heart is not easily touched. I saw your true face that night the chandelier fell. I've seen you masked, unmasked, angry, teasing, in pain, and in what I hope to be love. And I'm still here, standing beside you, hungry for your mouth, your breath, your touch—"

He interrupted her to give her what they both hungered for. He took her in his arms and she wrapped herself around his body, soft noises of ecstasy escaping her. Her lips danced over his, tasting, breathing his breath. He groaned from a place low in his throat and the sound made her legs tremble. She broke from his mouth to gasp for breath and he pulled her up against him such that she could wrap her legs around his middle and lay her head on his shoulder. She kissed and kissed his neck.

He held her so tightly she closed her eyes at the deep feeling of grounding and security the hold gave to her. He walked with her down the hall toward the door of her room and when he set her gently down in front of it, her heart fluttered with unease, thinking of the bed that was inside.

"I… We can't…"

He smiled a little and silenced her with a gentle touch to her chin. "I want nothing you do not want."

She gazed into his eyes as he spoke and found no hint of dishonestly. She reached into the bodice of her dress and drew out her key. She unlocked the door while the Phantom went back to pick up the lamp to take it in with them.

Nataly lit a few more candles inside the room; enough to light it dimly. The Phantom sat on her bed.

"I should like…" She blushed and the Phantom cocked his head. "I should very much like to be able to change out of his dress, it's heavy and constricting, and if you wouldn't mind allowing me to—" He had gotten up and he kissed her brow.

"Call when you're dressed again." He left, took the lamp, and closed the door behind him. Nataly smiled and began unlacing her formal outfit. It felt so good to be taking the thing off. She opened her wardrobe and took out a pretty but far more casual and comfortable dress, and slipped into it. She slipped on a loose sweater as well because the room had a slight chill, and then opened the door for him.

He had collected all her dropped roses while she had changed and brought the bundle and her lamp back in. He set them on her small white desk and placed the lamp back.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." He gazed at her from across the room. "You look beautiful."

"You are not so bad yourself," she replied, smiling, as she crossed to him.

"Flattery will get you nowhere," he said as he took her into his arms.

"Flattery will get _you_ everywhere," she joked.

"Yes, I know."

"Oh, phh!" She smacked him gently on the arm. He chuckled. She kissed him. She drowned in him.

Late into the night the candles were burning low and she lay in his arms on her bed, chaste though they ached in an unspoken way for one another. She was gazing at him and tracing the exposed skin on his face with gentle fingertips. She pressed her forehead to his, closed her eyes, and sighed with happiness.

"Keep me in your arms always," she breathed. "I want to be nowhere else."

He kissed her. "You have them."

She gazed at him a long while, her dark eyes shining in the candlelight, and finally said quietly, "We know each other better now, Phantom…will you tell me your name?"

He gazed back into her eyes and drew a long breath. Then he reached up a hand and his fingers slid under his mask. Slowly, he pulled it from his face.

He swallowed, his eyes burning with old shame and fear. "Erik…" he answered her. "My name is Erik."

Her expression unwaveringly tender, she kissed him, gently, trying to pour from her mouth to his all the love burning in her heart. To show him he need not fear. That it changed nothing.

She felt a wetness on her cheeks and pulled her head away to see that tears were leaking from his eyes. She kissed them away.

"Don't cry, love," she murmured.

He closed his eyes and tears ran more steadily than before. He leaned back and lay on his back on the bed.

"I'm sorry…" he whispered.

She shook her head with her lips touching his cheek. "It's alright." She brushed the tears gently from the wasted part of his face. He flinched at the touch, so she kissed him there.

"Do get used to it," she said softly, a smile in her voice, and kissed his ruined skin again.

More tears ran, though he smiled a little. She brushed them all patiently away until they stopped. He opened his eyes and she smiled at him and kissed his lips lightly. Then she settled down against his chest and neck and held herself to him. He was so very warm, and his skin and clothes smelled so masculine it at times made her feel faint. She felt utterly safe in his embrace and she had been happier in these quiet hours they had spent together tonight than she could ever remember being.

"I love you, Erik," she said quietly.

He took a slow, deep breath in and out. "You are my light, my saving, and all my reasons, Nataly," he replied in a low, warm voice that almost broke with emotion. "I love you until the end of reckoning."

She drifted to sleep there in his arms and her dreams were full of light.


	11. Chapter 11: Daylight

**Chapter 11: Daylight**

**E**rik watched her wake. Her eye makeup was smudged from the night of sleep, but her perfect eyelashes were still heartbreakingly lovely. The many colors from the stained glass window at the other side of the room lit the space with a soft, intimate glow. Eyes still closed, Nataly reached up and rubbed her nose in an absurdly adorable manner. A strange thing to be so attractive, but he felt himself growing hard beneath the blankets and against the fabric of his pants. His heart felt like it was perpetually a moment away from busting. This woman had so much more to her than the cool face she presented to the world; inside was hid her delicacy and sweetness. It would be impossible to feel any more for her—it would not be containable.

She opened her eyes to his and a smile broke across her face. She gazed at him tenderly and not once did her eyes flick over the deformed part of him… He had been wrong a moment ago in thinking it would not be possible to feel more for her.

"Good morning," she whispered.

He kissed her. When their mouths parted, he was amused to see a blush blooming from her chin to the roots of her hair. She sheepishly hid her face in her pillow.

"What?" he asked her, attempting with a gentle hand to pry her face back out.

She turned to speak to him, blushing still further. "I… I've never woken up in bed with a man before. This is…it's new."

"And very improper," he chuckled, tucking her in against his side.

"Yes," she agreed. "This is not the way a lady of society is expected to conduct her romantic relationships."

"You've never really been one of them, anyway."

She looked up at him with an odd expression. "I think for myself and am more opinionated and ambitious than most, but that doesn't mean I'm not part of that world. I was raised in it, Erik. Practically soaked."

"I'm amazed you turned out as well as you did."

She had to smile. "I'm a tad worried about how little I care about propriety with you and me."

"We'll have propriety between ourselves, Nataly. It might not be _their_ propriety, but neither of us likes to play by their rules." He looked at her rather intently. "Are you dismayed by the unconventionality of this?"

"No," she answered truthfully. "I have the resources to do what I like—and love whom I wish to love. It doesn't pain me, but it does give me pause."

Erik still looked concerned. "Paris' wealthy young suitors won't be the only ones disappointed."

"Do you mean my parents?"

"You'll never have the lovely public wedding they hope for. And I have no fortune to speak of."

"Good thing you didn't fall in love with a pauper, then."

He did not smile. She sat up. "I need to greet the day," she said. "Papa and _maman_ are gone, which is liberating, but I still cannot lounge on a bed all day. Christian and Patricia will be wondering where I am if I do not get back at some time today."

"Who?"

"They help run the household…" She got out of bed and made a face in the ornate mirror hung above the washbasin. "I trust them dearly, but some of our smaller servants far less so, and if I go missing rumors will spread." She said the last three words with a small hairpin in her teeth as she bent over and attempted to tame her hair. Then she began rummaging through her wardrobe and pulled out a different and less wrinkled dress.

Erik watched her. When he said nothing she looked back at him curiously. She blushed a little again; he didn't know why. He wanted her to stay with him. Today, tomorrow, always. But he knew she had responsibilities. Chains that bound, more like. He felt as if the atmosphere between them had changed slightly somehow and their playful, loving closeness had slipped away, perhaps chased off by the light of day.

She had turned fully and was watching him too.

"Do you trust me, Erik?" she asked him suddenly. She was holding her chosen fresh dress in her hands and the blush had gone to be replaced by a new expression. A question, a worry.

"I'm not a very trusting man." He sighed. "But I'm here mask-less in your bed. I expect that means I must have some measure of trust in you."

She was still gazing at him. "I ask because the world would have us taken apart from each other. And I know no quicker poison than doubt." She walked to the edge of the bed and sat beside him. "I am a different woman with you… It frightens me because I have worked so hard to become someone reserved and in control. I am a bit frightened of how much I feel for you." She looked him in the eyes. "But it would be an insult to me if you doubted the sincerity and unswayable nature of those feelings." She touched his face. "I love you. You light me afire as no one I have ever known, and I will fight for you, bend for you, honor you. From what Madame Giry told me, I know you have seen almost nothing but rejections and betrayals, yet I still see in you such gentleness and affection… I know it is asking a lot of someone who has already given so much, but…I ask you to trust in me."

Erik pulled her down against his chest and held her to him. She always knew what to say, even when he had not even known what it was he wished to hear. The tenderest of affections warmed his body and soothed his mind. He stroked her hair. When she lifted her head, he kissed her face. Kips, nose, forehead, cheeks, it didn't matter. She giggled.

He rolled their bodies with a sudden, strong rocking motion and she gasped. He held her and looked down at her, smiling crookedly. She traced the smile with her fingertips and he kissed each of those fingertips.

"I will try my best to trust you," he promised quietly.

"I suppose that'll do," she murmured, and then kissed his ear. He scrunched up his nose as it echoed in his head. He lifted off of her and turned his back to her while she changed. When he turned back, she looked perfectly fit to host company. Or leave, as it seemed she soon would.

"I wish I could bring you back to my home."

"Yes, but then all those servants you mentioned would have no end of rumors to spread."

"Yes…" She looked away, lost in thought, but he pulled her out of it by cupping her sweet face in his hands. The way she could look at him without flinching or lingering her gaze on his deformity almost let him forget it even existed. He only remembered because he was so used to having to wear a mask around other people that its absence was marked.

"Must you leave now?" he asked.

"Perhaps—I don't know the time."

"It's early," he said, though he had no real idea of the hour. "Dreadfully early."

Nataly was walking to the window and she gazed down from the clear center piece in it into the streets below. She shook her head. "I'm afraid not."

Erik sighed internally but walked to the window beside her and wrapped an arm around her. "Then you should go home."

She turned in his arms to look up at him. "I should spend tonight at the house. Sleeping there is expected of me. I am only expected at the opening and closing performances so I need not attend tonight's. But I shall return early next morning. I will take care of whatever business there is to take care of, and then you and I shall be able to spend the day alone up here together."

Erik nodded and stepped away. His chest burned with fear of her stepping into the daylight as if it that light and those bustling streets contained the power to change her mind. What if she left this opera house and came to her senses? What if she realized he did not deserve her kindness, her love? That her life would be too full of shame and secrecy with him as her lover?

Nataly collected her things. Erik stepped outside the room as she closed the door behind her and locked it shut. He descended one flight of stairs with her, but at the top of the first landing, he quietly pushed a narrow section of the wall and it swung inward. Before he slipped through it and away, Nataly pressed herself against him and kissed him gently. After she took her mouth from his, he watched her descend around a corner and then closed up the wall behind him, ducking back into the shadows.

…

"Thank you, Patricia," she said to her maid as she set a tray of lunch spread in front of her on the dining table.

"Of course, mademoiselle."

Nataly chewed on the side of her tongue as she wrote out checks to her creditors. After she was finished and the letters had been addressed, she helped herself to lunch while reading her father's latest letter—this time from the Netherlands. He wrote that the area seemed to agree with his wife and that they had found a village in which to stay for a few weeks. He wished her luck and had even stretched a rough landscape of an ocean view. Nataly took care to write him a lengthy response, although she felt strange at having to leave out the most momentous and important news.

She was just finishing a small bowl of custard when the doorbell rang and she looked up as someone was shown in. Seeing Jean Durand's smug face she internally scowled but nodded politely and stood to receive him instead.

"Monsieur. To what do I owe this visit?"

"Why, to my parent's dear hospitality and my own pleasure, Nataly," he replied smoothly, taking her hands in his. He kissed her cheek in warm greeting. "I'm come to invite you personally to dine with my parents, younger brothers, and I this week Thursday."

"Ah, of course. Please extend my warmest thanks to Madame and Monsieur Durand and inform them that they may be assured of my company Thursday evening."

"Excellent! I'm very glad of it. Now, what are you engaged with on this gorgeous afternoon?" Without waiting for an answer, he began looking through her letters. "Bah—business. I insist you have a better time today and accompany my cousin Lily and me to the park. You and she can talk of fashion and the modern novels I know you are so fond of—and charm the daylight out of everyone you meet."

"Monsieur, I must crave your generous pardon. After the success of last night, much and more is here for me to do in regards to the _Opera Populaire_ and I simply cannot afford to step away from household and business demands this afternoon."

"What is your staff for, if not to take care of such matters for you?"

"I know your gracious sister and yourself will understand my—"

"If you pardon me, mademoiselle," Patricia interrupted gently, "You asked me days ago to remind you of your meeting with Monsieur Scherzer which is now in an hour and a half. Also, Christian waits on your pleasure to approve the house menu for the next two weeks…"

Neither of those things were true, but Nataly was eternally grateful for her savvy insertion. She looked pointedly at Durand, and the young man sighed.

"I can see you are indeed in high demand, and it seems I shan't be able to tear you away from your terribly mundane-sounding duties." He smirked. "If fact, it seems I am in the way. I shall see you Thursday, then."

"I am very grateful, monsieur."

"Nataly, I beg you, call me Jean. I shall feel you are too cold if you do not."

"As you like. Good day." She kissed him on the cheek as was polite and allowed Patricia to escort him out of her home. When the housekeeper came back into the room, Nataly stuck out her tongue with a very unladylike expression.

"If that man comes calling again before Thursday, please tell him I am out."

Patricia nodded. "He struts like someone too often satisfied."

_With a certain kind of satisfaction_. "Exactly. He smells like a rake to me." She kissed Patricia soundly on the forehead and went back to attacking her custard.

That night before bed, she found her thoughts wandering away from the book she held. She dropped it absently onto the bed and pulled her nightgown tighter to herself as she gazed at her bedroom wall without seeing it.

She needed to make plans. Her life had never been precisely conventional, but now it needed delicate handling. A number of options ran through her mind. She could live in seclusion with Erik, without servants around to spread whispers of scandal. But Nataly knew she had grown used to a certain lifestyle—and she also could not bear the thought of living estranged from her mother and father.

She could continue the pattern of meeting her love in secret and not attempting to live together. This was practical but mostly likely would soon prove frustrating to both of them.

She wondered about the possibility of finding a way to cover his deformity long enough for a private but publically-understood marriage. That way her mother and father could know him… There was still the problem of the household staff finding him scandalous. How could they overcome that?


	12. Chapter 12: Options

**Chapter 12: Options**

**E**rik stroked a lock of Nataly's hair between his fingers and thumb as she laid with her head on his stomach and her eyes tracing the lines of poetry as she read aloud to him.

"De nos soirs, de notre querelle?  
Tu me donnas, je me rappelle,  
Ton collier d'or pour m'apaiser…"

_Think of our loves, our feuds of old, and how you gave your chain of gold to me for a peace offering…_ He stroked her head, marveling at the softness of her hair, the happiness of the moment, the way her voice made old words into new music. Perhaps she felt his emotions in his touch because she turned her head to smile at him.

"Do you like Musset?" she asked.

"His words in your voice are beautiful."

She smiled again and brought his hand to her lips to kiss it. "Erik, I should return home this evening to have dinner with my household—it's been a few days since I've had dinner at home…" She suddenly gave him a strange look. "Do you need—I mean, if I may ask, how do you feed yourself?"

Erik found her sudden confusion amusing. "There is a pub nearby to which I go in the evenings and pay for food for the next day or few days. They don't question my mask because I have always paid them handsomely. Sometimes Madame Giry leaves me gifts as well."

"How?"

"She leaves packages in her room for me to take."

"I shall start bringing lunch here from my favorite restaurants."

"That's entirely unnecessary."

"Well, at least sometimes. Also, I have a dinner engagement the day after tomorrow so I will have to leave around four in order to go home, prepare, and arrive on time."

"A dinner engagement?"

"Yes, with Madame and Monsieur Durand and their sons. It's going to be an absolute ordeal. My family has always secretly hated their family and their eldest son in particular is a spoiled dog. But of course etiquette demands I indulge them…"

Erik made a face. She chuckled, and then continued reading to him. He listened to the lit of her voice and closed his eyes. Who had he become and how had this person grown so fortunate as to end up here, with her, in this moment in time?

"Mais que dis-je? ainsi va le monde.  
Comment lutterais-je avec l'onde  
Dont les flots ne reculent pas?"

_But what__am I saying?__So goes the__world.__How__would I__fight__with__the current whose waves__are not afraid__? _

…

As three enormous hunting hounds raced toward her down the hall, Nataly flattened herself in fright against the wall and kicked at the first as it came at her.

"_Mon dieu_!" she exclaimed as the manservant who had escorted her inside grasped two collars and tugged them away from her. Nataly used her handbag to swing at the third for good measure and the dogs backed off, still barking noisily. _Beasts_!

Laughter sounded from further up the hall as Jean Durand walked toward them.

"Sorry about them. They wouldn't harm you, really."

Nataly straightened her skirts and dignity and asked rather stiffly, "Do they greet all your guests in such a manner?"

"Only when they're still indoors when guests arrive." He shot the manservant a sharp look. He then turned and Nataly followed him as he began escorting her down the hall.

"I don't believe you've ever been to Ramstead," Durand commented.

"On the contrary, I came here once before with my parents when I was around eleven. I'm surprised you don't remember, considering you very effectually tangled a hunk of dirt in my hair while we and our parents were out having tea in the garden."

"That was one of my brothers, I'm certain."

"Your brothers were in diapers at the time."

Durand looked at her ruefully, then smirked. "I'm sure I was just vying for the attention of the most beautiful person there."

She forced a smile. _You were a little snot and always will be_.

Dinner with the Durands was just as she had assumed it would be. His parents were the same arrogant frogs she remembered, although aged ten or so years, and their eldest son's courting had to be ducked politely at every turn. His two younger brothers were around the age he had been when he had aggressively rubbed a clod of dirt into her scalp, and the two were similarly ill-mannered. Nataly was repulsed by the entire family.

And, like his father, Jean drank too much with his meals. When his smirks took on an almost leering quality, she felt it was high time she excused herself. Madame Durand called a carriage for her, and she made her goodbyes and fled.

_People like that are why mother gets her headaches_, she mused as she was helped out of her outer clothing in her bedroom. She changed into sleepwear, washed her face in the basin in her bedroom, and then brushed her teeth. She slowly worked her hair loose of tangles in front of her mirror and then tucked down into bed, missing Erik and planning on waking early in order to spend tomorrow with him as soon as possible.

…

Once Nataly was fresh and dressed, she hurried downstairs and collected the letters she needed to work on from the dining table into her handbag. Weekend sunlight was shining in lovely rays through the house's windows and she could smell fresh flowers from the sitting room.

Christian approached her from the hall with a warm smile. He was a graying redheaded man in his forties who had been employed for her father as long as she could remember and had helped raise her. He was a sweet-tempered man with cheery jokes but also possessed a cleverness that prevented much from going unnoticed in the household. He was not the only perceptive one, however—Nataly having learned from him and from her father—and she was fairly certain his sexual interests did not lie with women.

"Good morning, mademoiselle! What would you like for breakfast?"

"Ah, nothing today—I'm going to stop by a shop and bring breakfast to the _Populaire_."

Christian tut-tutted good naturedly. "You're going to start forgetting what this house looks like."

Nataly rolled her eyes.

"I'll ready the carriage," he told her and went back the way he'd come. Nataly collected the last of her things and stood outside to wait for the carriage as the wind ruffled her hair. The ornate pin she'd placed in it only held a section properly in place. She reached up a hand to fix it, but then figured there wasn't much point and just felt the caress of the breeze.

She stopped at a pastry bistro on her way to the opera house and purchased a regular feast of croissants, eggs with truffles, and honeyed fruit salad. Her carriage continued to the _Populaire_ and Nataly let herself into the opera house, bags of breakfast food in tow.

The grand auditorium felt rather like a church when it was empty and silent. She passed the rows of red velvet seats and climbed up to the stage. She set her breakfast feast down at the edge of the stage and sat down herself, allowing her legs to dangle idly over the orchestra pit.

"Breakfast!" she called out, wondering if he might hear. She'd rather not bother to find him—the eggs would get cold.

Swinging her legs happily, she chewed her breakfast. Days spent with Erik were ones with endless possibilities for pleasure. She had never been so deeply in love and so excited to spend her time with one person. He challenged her, warmed her, delighted her. And as long as she kept up with her responsibilities she could spend enough time with him to satisfy them both.

_Perhaps I'll have to go looking for him_. He might be in his private rooms in the cellars and caverns below the building. She hoped she still remembered the route he had shown her to get there safely.

Nataly finished what she wanted of her breakfast. The auditorium was still quiet.

"I have breakfaaast," she called gently in a sing-song voice.

"Marco," came his call from behind her. Nataly turned, grinning. His voice had come from backstage.

"Polo!" she giggled, getting up. She fumbled grinningly at the heavy red velvet curtains to find the opening. When she was through, all was darkness. "Marco?" she asked tentatively. Where was he? She could barely see anything.

The Phantom pulled her off the ground in his arms, and with one arm tight around her, he climbed with her into the blackness. She gasped lightly as wooden beams brushed her dress. He was taking her up into the rafters. Above the pulley system below, he sat down on a wide, sturdy beam and laid her across his lap. She kissed him.

She smelled of sawdust and leather. He tasted and felt better than she'd dreamed even just the night before. Her arms around his neck, she sat on his lap and danced her mouth across and in and out of his. She kissed his cheeks, his jaw. He kissed one of her eyelids gently and she sighed with happiness. She nuzzled her head into his neck, wanting him all around her, and he made a contented rumbling noise deep in his chest.

"Are you giving the cast a break this week or will they be showing up here soon?" he asked her after a time. His voice was husky.

"A break. After four days of performances, they deserve it. Plus I do not know which opera we should put on next." She hugged herself to him. Nataly had always been complete in herself, without need of support or comfort. She needed no one, but this—having a partner—it was an exquisite luxury. She had twice as much as before, and she knew there would be a hole without him as they would not have been before.

Erik finished the breakfast she had brought for him while they sat on stage together in the empty opera house. Nataly playfully tapped out a tune on the organ below as he ate. After, they climbed to Nataly's attic rooms and continued the kissing they had begun two floors below.

After kissing him for she didn't know how long, her reasons for them not to make love seemed less and less important and the ache between her legs seemed more and more so.

"Nataly…" he rumbled in chastisement. She was lying beside him on her bed and her leg had wormed between his and was moving rhythmically in a place he found hard to ignore. She moaned softly.

"I'm sorry."

"You don't seem sorry." There was a smile in his voice.

"I've never felt…"

"Nor have I. How come I have to be the law enforcement between us?"

"I'll take over for a bit, if you'd like."

"You don't have the strength of will."

"Is that so?"

"It seems so."

"I'm sorry." She sat up. "This is overwhelming."

He propped himself up on his elbows, his undershirt unbuttoned to the waist, and the dark hair that was visible curled in soft circles on his chest. "I stop us because of what I imagine _your_ propriety dictates. You know I care nothing for such rules."

She lied back down against him. "There are a few plausible possibilities open to us. We could continue as we are in secret, hoping no one spots us, and allowing all the bachelors in town to court me freely. This will eventually make you jealous and cause me to consider my options. Don't look at me like that—I'm only saying the truth.

"As for the second option… I have too many friends and acquaintances here in Paris to be able to pull off a private wedding without creating a terrible affront and scandal. But women often go abroad for a few months and find husbands. Sometimes they even come back married. It is not ideal in society's view, but it would afford us privacy and would afford me as little scandal as possible. We could travel to Nice or Marseille. With the directors I have found and trust, and Madame Giry, the _Populaire_ would get along alright without both of us. We would have to come up with some sort of story for you. Younger brother to an earl, a Tuscan vineyardholder, something."

"I could not fake any of those things," Erik told her, looking withdrawn. "I know nothing about earldoms or vineyards."

"You can compose," she suggested gently. "You can play and sing like no one I have ever heard." He looked at her. She continued, smiling. "Perhaps you are famous in Montpellier. You preformed the lead in an Amphitheatre outside with your voice echoing of the water of the Gulf of Lion and became famous in the south." She sat up. "Perhaps I saw a show while visiting and we fell in love and were married in a month."

She could tell the tale had wooed him, but he still looked uneasy. "I have never traveled so far from the _Populaire_ before." She could see the hint of fear in his eyes and a touch of…well… He had not grown like other people. He had been raised by the opera house, by music and solitude. He did not know what he would be without this place and its secrets and hiding places around and sheltering him.

"I would keep you safe," she told him gently. "But we can go on as we have been if you would prefer."

"For a little while, I would prefer that."

Nataly wondered how long it would be before she put propriety aside and lost her sexual virtue to him. Would it be a mistake?


	13. Chapter 13: To Crave

**Chapter 13: To Crave**

**A**s the success of the _Opera Populaire_ grew performance by performance, as did Nataly's desirability. Society wooed her, and society's bachelors, who heretofore had for the most part been scared away by her unfeminine business acumen and bold, authoritative way of speaking. They apparently had collectively decided that the potential monetary gains of taming the shrew were now too appealing to ignore.

And none were as persistent as Jean Durand. Eventually she ran out of excuses to avoid going out for the day with him and his sister. She found she did not despise his sister's company as much as she had predicted, but she would always prefer doing something else than spending her day with the two of them. They were shallow and prickly to criticism. Jean often grew sour by the end of their times together when she remained only polite and cool toward him. After two weeks of such attention, while Jean only grew more overt, Nataly decided it would be prudent to speak with him and all four of the main bachelors that called on her weekly.

She spoke to Henri Bellerose first when he called at her house in the morning, and he opportunity to speak to Jean rose the next evening when he made his goodbyes to her in front of her home after taking her home in his father's carriage.

"Monsieur Durand," she began, "we must be honest with one another, must we not? My mother's health is failing and taking care of her and the _Populaire_ are all I am able to think about. I do not wish to be courted by anyone for a while."

Jean smirked. "Yes, I heard you said so to Bellerose, but that does not extend to me, I assume."

_How can one human be so prideful?_ "Monsieur, you mistake me. Indeed it does. I am entirely in earnest."

He gave her the smile of one confidant to another. "The steel-backboned Mademoiselle Benoit? Too overwhelmed to be courted? No, I do not believe it for a minute. You" —he stroked her cheek with a finger— "can take on the world with your wit and strong heart. And I will be here to help you through. Why, we could take the train to your mother on the morrow with fresh baguettes and hot truffle soup—"

"Monsieur. Please understand me. You are too kind, wonderfully kind, _but it is not my wished to be wooed at this time_." Her tone was firm.

His expression went from tenderness to sour indignance in a flash.

"Well. Well, as you wish," he snapped, and left her with a few short strides and a gruff shout to his driver. Nataly collected her skirts, feeling ill at ease. _It is because of his pushiness I had to be so firm. He will leave that out, though, in his telling. There may be some fallout for this…the men and women my age and younger who hear will make fun of my resolve to each other. He will say I said it was because of my mother, however, and even though she has gotten no worse, the older gossips will think me very dutiful. They will not look down on me for this. _

_And perhaps they will all leave me alone for a while. _

She had not been able to see Erik recently as much as she would wish, but the times they did get together were blissful. He always had some new script for her to look at with him, a new novel he had discovered, or drawings to look at if they ran out of things to talk of. He was an excellent artist—his drawings had shocked Nataly at first. They were excellent, but not at all conventional. He drew with lead, charcoal, colored pastels, and oil if he could get his hands on it, and his drawings always had a crystal clear focal point, but the surroundings were blurred and amorphous.

"I draw how I remember things," he had explained.

The moments he had captured in the opera house were exquisite and very faithfully rendered. His drawings of her made her look like an angel.

Christian met her at the door. "Mademoiselle, we expect your father and mother here tomorrow."

She took the letter from him. "Has there been any change? Is my mother well?"

"No change that I know of. Your father has business with his steward and likely had begun to miss you as well."

Nataly gave him a smile. "I miss him also. It will be good to have my parents back." _But more difficult as well._

…

Erik slipped into her study and shut the heavy door behind him. He was clothed handsomely, all in black, with a white half-mask—his usual attire for skulking around the _Populaire_. She smiled hugely when she saw him, and he walked swiftly around her desk and took her face in his wide hands to kiss her.

Somehow she ended up mostly on his lap in the chair.

"Your crew is talking of you in the auditorium," he murmured.

"Oh? What are they saying?"

"That you have no interest in the young men of Paris. That you do not wish to be courted."

"Well, this is true. I have told a few men this."

He held her tighter and kissed her deeply. She could feel his deep, passionate gratitude in that kiss.

That night, after cast had crew had left for the evening, she and the Phantom of the Opera kissed their way up the narrow steps to the attic. Once they were inside and had lit candles, Erik lifted her up into his arms while he pushed the door closed with his foot. He lowered her down onto the bed on her back, his arms around her, and kissed her gently. She knew he was capable of roughness, but he most often handled her as if she were delicate. She also knew he was keeping his passions in check for her sake.

His fingers traced patterns behind her ear and along her collarbone. One of his legs rested between hers and she could feel a sweet place between her legs begging, pulsing to be ground against that leg. She felt his hardness hidden under his black pants as well and yearned to see this part of him—to caress and feel the part of a man's body she had never been able to experience. _They say your body feels complete when it is with another. Our bodies are like puzzle pieces. I have never known what it is to be filled._

Her hips were rocking against his leg without her conscious consent. _I ache. God above, I ache for this man. This is what it is to want. To crave. Our bodies were made for what we deny ourselves. Why would we deny…?_

He groaned with desire but moved slightly away from her. "Nataly, love…" He was being chastising, halting them, but she heard that groan between her legs. She felt a trembling shudder of want pass through her and out.

"Nataly," he breathed, "tonight I love you more than I ever have before, and I want you, but I do not want to see you regret anything in the morning. I—" She stroked him and words were lost to him.

"Erik," she whispered. "I will never regret a minute with you." Her voice grew hoarse. "Make love to me."

His body when he had pulled off his clothes was glorious. The marring of his skin continued down one side of his neck and slightly onto one shoulder. The rest of him was untouched and beautiful. He had a dusting of black hair on his arms and chest and soft black hair between his legs. His erection was truly startling to her as she had seen grown men bare only in art. She felt a flutter of fear.

He undressed her, lifting her skirt up and away and finally untying her bodice. She slipped her underclothes off as he lifted the bodice away and stared at her. His gaze was intent and adoring. She could see in his eyes how she looked to him and it put some of her fears at ease. There was some trepidation in his eyes as well as he lowered her back onto the bed. Their hearts were both hammering while Erik kissed her gently. His hands ran up and down her arms and back, soothing her.

She kissed him deeply and felt herself begin to pulse with want again. The ache was hot and deep. Erik moaned in the back of his throat when his hardness brushed the wetness between her legs and she felt a tremor fly through her. Almost without thinking, she hitched her hips up and against him, taking some of him inside her.

His breath caught and then he shuddered, kissing her forehead.

"Nataly…"

Her name in his voice was beautiful to her. She wanted to hear it always. He pushed inside her completely and there was pain. She sucked in her breath. But as he began to move back and in, the world became only sensation—only touch and rhythm. The memory of the pain was forgotten. He held her as he moved in and back, in and back. A cry escaped her, one she barely heard. She moaned as his body deliciously stoked a sweet spot inside her she had not known she had.

She said his name; she felt tears at the corners of her eyes. _This is everything. God above, it is everything. I want it forever. _

"I love you," he was murmuring. "Ah, god, Nataly. There should be a better word… You are everything…"

His pace quickened, but after a minute or so of bliss, he suddenly held still. "I am close to being done," he groaned. "But I don't want to be." He moved suddenly to the side and onto his back, and Nataly spun with him. He had reversed their positions and she was lying gazing down at him. He moved his hips upward and his hardness further into her and she closed her eyes and smiled with pleasure.

She moaned as he moved under her and she began to move her hips up and back as well. _It is too much, too good, too much…_ She cried out, wordless, lost in sensation. She murmured his name over and over again, lost in her own increasing rhythm and his hard, warm body under hers. Slowly the sensation condensed to a tiny point inside her.

Erik's hands were moving her backside up and back on him as she rode him, and the sweet place between her legs was too sweet to bear. Pleasure built with a few hot waves and then suddenly an enormous breaking tide crashed upon her. She lost control and shuddered as release snapped through her. Her body clenched his in rolling waves with muscles she had not known she possessed, and Erik panted and groaned as her pleasure pushed him higher and his own release found him. He pulled outside of her and let himself spill on his stomach and hers.

Nataly laid on him, breathless and sighing with lingering bliss. She knew a new need had been kindled. It flickered inside her, hot and addicting. _I want that again. And again. Mon dieu. _She lifted a hand to wipe the tears from the corners of her eyes. Erik reached over to grasp his underclothes; he wiped them both off with it. Then he turned with her in his arms so they were both on their sides.

Nataly kissed his face because she was still too breathless to kiss his lips.

"_Ange_," he murmured, hoarse. "Ah, Nataly."

"I have been lied to," Nataly said, and laughed a little to herself. "My father told me coupling was no earth-shattering thing. That it is nothing to write poems about. Well. Perhaps sex with my mother is nothing to write poems about. But _this_—we are just an entirely different matter." She laughed again.


	14. Chapter 14 Family

**Chapter 14: Family**

"**T**hey arrived this morning," Patricia hold her hurriedly under her breath as she accompanied her from the end of the walkway to the front door. "I did not tell them you were out all night and I told your father you were out to breakfast with some women this morning. I don't know what has gotten into you recently, but I'd rather not have to lie to your parents again." Poor Patricia looked distressed and Nataly felt both grateful and guilty.

"I'm sorry, 'Tricia, I did not know they would be here so soon. Thank you—" She walked through the door and her father was standing in the hall with an orange in his hand. "Papa!" She kissed him on both cheeks. "How was your trip? How is mother?"

"She's in there." He gestured to the sitting room.

Nataly found her mother in their best chair, covered in blankets, with a table and tray of half-eaten lunch in front of her.

"How was your trip, _maman_?"

Madame Benoit waved her hand. "Mountains and trains and cities and forests and things. They say the fresh air was good for me. I say horsefeathers. These doctors—they do nothing with their ten fingers, they do nothing, and what is worse—they _say_ nothing. They go to all their schools, and for what? To tell us nothing. To say they don't know. They must teach them how to say "I don't know" at these schools. That is all they teach—the best way to say "I don't know. They gaze at their navels and they make me insane with their silly suggestions and _I don't knows_. Do you know one of them suggested I take some sort of vegetable and snake venom paste that he had created, and we were in Portugal, _par dieu_, only Portugal, not even in some _jungle_!"

"I am glad you did not eat that, _maman_," Nataly told her blandly, taking a seat and stealing from her tray of food.

"So am I! By god, the day I drink _snake venom_ is the day you can cart me off to a crazy house. Of all the idiotic ideas. I told Patricia about it. She shuddered to even think!"

"Your color is better than it was," Nataly told her.

"Well, I always feel better in the mornings. I have energy in the mornings." She watched Nataly scarf her food. "I thought you had breakfast, child."

"I did, maman, but it is lunchtime now, and I have not had that. I have been at the _Populaire_ getting some things in order." She gestured to some papers and letters she had brought with her which she had tucked under her arm.

"You father likely wants to speak with you. He always does. _Oh_—Leon and Sabine will be here tomorrow or the next day—Leon has just come back from visiting with your father's family, and after hearing about you and your opera, Sabine had to come back with him and visit us in return. I know you will be glad to see her. She was your idol when you were a little one, I remember this. But I wish you would be different from her and not determine yourself to die a shriveled maid. You should marry, Nataly, before you get more wrinkles."

"I don't have wrinkles, maman," Nataly told her, smiling and standing.

"You do. You have two on your forehead and some at the corners of your eyes."

"_Maman_!" she chastised, chuckling. "Well, apparently I both worry and laugh too much. I shall go see father."

She shut the door behind her as she entered her father's study.

"She seems better. She is certainly talkative."

Her father took off his reading spectacles and placed them and the newsprints he had been reading on the desk. He reached for the orange he had been carrying around and dug his nail in to begin peeling it. "She is always talkative, even when she is in pain with barely any strength in her, you know that."

"Well, she is not so pale."

"No." He leaned back in his chair. His gaze saw through to her center, as always. Her father's gaze was kindly, but piercing. He cleared his throat. "We have never danced around things, _ma petite_… I could smell a man on you when you greeted me at the door."

When Nataly did not answer right away, he asked, "It is not that Durand boy, is it? I will only say it once if you do not wish to hear it, but he is no good. If you are—"

"It is not the Durand boy," she said firmly. "He tried, but he is selfish and snide and I very much dislike him."

"I'm glad of that… I asked who you had been spending time with this morning and Christian named him among others."

"He has been courting me. Aggressively. But I've put a stop to it."

"Who, then? Have you been out all night?"

Nataly took a breath in and out her nose. "Do you trust me?"

Monsieur Benoit shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Lead your life as you will. I cannot control you at the age you are now. But I wish to know who it is."

"He… I do not wish to present him to the public as my fiancé at this time."

"Is he one of the crew? If you don't wish to present him now, I doubt you'll want to later. What are you going to do?"

"That has not yet been decided between us, papa."

His face grew dark for a moment. "But you're certain of him? That he will decide and something will be done? Is he trustworthy? Or—is this a fling you do not wish to make public and will move on from?"

"It is not a fling, papa."

Her father took a breath through his nose, rather like she had done a moment or two ago. _I must have gotten it from him_.

"These things are true," she said. "I am in no danger, I am in love with a good man, I am doing all I can to keep the reputation of this family untarnished, and I will present this man to the family in due time. Perhaps I will take a trip and come back married."

"Come back married? …Your mother will be angry, Nat."

She sighed. "I do not know what else to do. I cannot marry here. Too many people would be slighted if they did not receive an invitation."

Her father's mouth twitched this way and that as he mulled things over. "Perhaps we could travel with you and attend the wedding there. Away from Paris. And it would seem less scandalous if everyone was with you. Less of a hurried-seeming thing."

She smiled, feeling more hopeful. "I would like that."

"Mm." He took a bite of his orange and chewed. "You always make things difficult, _ma fille préférée_."

"I am sorry, papa."

"But, I suppose I am glad you are not alone now. You seem happy."

"I am happy."

"Did your mother tell you we're expecting your brother and your cousin here in the next few days?"

"Yes." She smiled. He smiled a little as well. She knew he liked having a house full of family, as she did. "Was the trip alright?"

"A hassle, to hear your mother tell it. But I enjoyed it. We rented sea-side villas, bought art in Spain, and saw Utrecht and Haarlem in the Netherlands. While your mother was sleeping I explored. Such history!"

Nataly was smiling. "I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

"From what I hear from Christian, you have been busy as well. How is the _Populaire_?"

"_Wonderful_!" Natal crowed. "We are doing wonderfully well. The cast and crew work well together, I have made friends with so many of them, and our operas are simply the best in Paris. You must come to our next, papa."

He laughed. "Of course, of course. I should like to see the place soon. I have heard you've done so much to it."

"When Leon and Sabine get here, I will take you all there. I will talk your ears off about it."

…

"**T**hey caught the Rouen post. They'll be here by three. I must get dressed."

Erik was trying his best to dissuade her from leaving. He lounged naked on her attic bed in the tinted lights of the stained glass window with an arm around her. The room smelled of their sweat and her perfume. He turned her to suck on her earlobe and heat blossomed inside her again. "_No_," she breathed, smiling. "I have to go." She snuggled down to hold him tightly around his waist. "I love you. I love you. But I have to go."

He traced her arms and jaw line with gentle fingers. There was so much in his eyes that he did not know how to say. "Have a good time."

"I will." She kissed him, and then got off the bed to begin to dress. "I'm so happy I get to see them both!"

He helped her lace up her bodice.

"I will not be able to come back tonight," she said, "but I will try my best to come again tomorrow."

He held her to him, still naked while she was dressed. He was tall enough that Nataly's head only came to the top of his chest and his neck. She laid it there and felt him breathe.

"I may bring them back here for a tour later."

"I'll stay out of sight," he told her. "Though I may watch and listen."

"You are welcome to." She pulled away and picked up her things. "I love you, Erik," she said before she kissed him goodbye.

At her house, she waited impatiently for her brother and cousin to arrive. Twenty past three, the carriage pulled up to the drive and she raced out to greet them.

Leon was perhaps even taller than she had last seen him; his hair was shorter, and he was just as stately-looking, yet at ease, as he ever was. Sabine was wearing practical traveling clothes instead of the finery she could wear, her dark, thick hair was slightly mussed from the long carriage rides, but her smile was warm and her dark eyes as sharp as ever.

She was the first to embrace Nataly, as Leon had taken the job from the manservant of opening the carriage door for her.

"Nat! Hello, lovely!" She hugged Nataly tightly. "You smell wonderful but a little too flowery—did you just put perfume on? Go easier on it, love." She put an arm around her and Nataly leaned against her affectionately as Leon helped unload their trunks from the back of the carriage. "How is your mother?" Sabine asked.

Leon looked up at the question and listened to the answer.

"She is decent in the mornings and very ill in the evenings. With headaches. The same." She turned to Sabine as Leon continued unloading. "What is new with you and yours?"

"Bah, I'm the only interesting one. They're all married to boring trolls or needy prisses with squalling brats. Your brother and I have been seeing the countryside and going to shows and things." She lowered her voice. "We even twice dressed in cotton and went to some pubs." She laughed. Nataly was envious. That sounded terribly fun.

"I want to go," she breathed back.

"Aye," Sabine laughed. "_Oui_. We'll get you to one. We'll beer you up." She laughed again, a free bark of a laugh. People stared when she laughed, but Nataly liked the way it sounded. She was grinning widely when her brother enveloped her in his own hug.

"Father wrote to say the _Populaire_ is back to many times its old success with you its new owner," he told her, sounding proud. "I want to see it!"

"Oh, but are you sure that man Leon told me about that burned it down last time is dead?" Sabine asked as they walked inside. "What if he hurts someone now that you own the place?"

"He hasn't troubled the _Populaire_ at all, even though I made changes when I renovated, hired the people I wanted to hire, and put on the shows I wanted to put on," Nataly told her, "so I don't think we need to worry."

"Good. He sounded like he could be trouble. Uncle!" Sabine greeted Nataly's father with smiles and warmth, kissing him twice on both cheeks. Nataly turned to Leon.

"Was the visit to father's family enjoyable?" she asked him. He nodded.

"Yes, of course. It was good to see Evé and Geoff again. And Sabine of course." Sabine was older than Leon, but she was the closest to his age of her father's sibling's children, the part of the family they were closest to, and they had played together as children.

They all walked into the parlor to visit with Nataly's mother. Leon spent a deal of time sitting close beside her and speaking with her. With Madame Benoit, that usually meant a great deal of listening, but Leon was patient. Nataly listened as Sabine told her father about Leon's visit and he told her about his travels with his wife. Nataly listened for the greater part of it. But when Leon turned toward them and demanded to know all about the _Populaire_, she claimed the attention of the room and told them of her efforts, from the remodeling to the latest show.

"Society can't get enough of her," her mother told them happily. "She's being courted by half the bachelors in Paris."

"Anyone interesting?" Leon asked, eyebrows raised. He knew how hard to please she was, but looked as though he might be expecting at least some partiality to someone.

"No," Nataly told them. "Worse than no. Most are amiable, but the Durand's son, Jean, has been as aggressive as a hound. He's arrogant and insincere and his parents are some of the shallowest people I have in my acquaintance. I had to be very firm with him the other night and now it's likely spreading about that I am a frosty shrew who doesn't wish to be wooed. Not that I have much problem with that." She crossed her legs and sat back in the cushions.

"A woman after my own heart," Sabine laughed.

Her mother looked much less pleased and even Leon looked a little disappointed.

"They aren't saying that about you, I'm sure," he told her. "You've treated the others with gentleness?"

Nataly shrugged. "Yes, I've been perfectly polite. But none of them particularly interest me, so obviously I haven't been particularly receptive. I don't want one getting the wrong idea and coming in here asking father's permission. I'd be mortified."

"There's no one in all of Paris you want?" her mother demanded, sounding exasperated. "There must be _someone_."

"Perhaps I need only leave Paris for a while to find him, maman," she replied. "I shall find someone to marry. I should like to. You know that. Or" —she smirked— "Sabine and I can live out our years together as wrinkled shrews."

"Amen!" Sabine exclaimed, smirking.

Madame Benoit made a noise of frustration. "Apparently it's you who should have gone traveling, not us."

"Next time it is my turn," Nataly agreed. "If I can stand to be away from my opera house for that long."

After supper, both her mother and father retired to their rooms for bed and Leon, Nataly, and Sabine sat close together at one end of the dining table, drinking after-dinner coffees.

"So, really?" Sabine asked her. "There's no one new in your life?"

She thinned her lips. "Listen, I don't want any questioning. What I tell you is going to be all you're going to know for a while. But, yes, there is someone."

Sabine smirked and Leon's eyebrows shot up into his forehead. "Who?" he demanded immediately.

"She's not going to tell us who—didn't your hear her?" said Sabine.

"Hush," Nataly quieted them. "I need to figure out how to make things work between him and me first. Societal reputation intact."

"Oh, so it is a him?" Sabine asked. "Huh. I thought maybe you were even more like me than I thought for a moment."

Nataly was confused. "What?"

Sabine and Leon exchanged a look. Leon shrugged. "You should tell her."

"Tell me what?"

"Lovely," Sabine said quietly, a sad smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "if I could, I would marry. But I would marry a woman."

Nataly blinked rapidly. "Oh… I…"

"Yes. Anyway, back to you. Is he dirt poor? Is he a madman? Is he one of your cast? I bet it is one of those. It must be. Why else hide it?"

"He is a good man and we will be married at some point in the future. That is all I'm telling you," said Nataly.

Leon looked unhappy. "I don't like this. What if he's… Nataly, you always make things difficult."

"That's exactly what father said."

Sabine chuckled and Leon made a face. "Father knows as well?" he asked, looking a bit surprised.

"Yes. He—well, you know how he is. Too damn observant. I had to tell him some. I told him basically what I've told you." It felt good, sharing at least some of her secret with her close family. "Mother can't be told, though. Father and I want to find a way to give her the wedding she wants. But it can't be in Paris." Nataly sipped at her coffee.

"No, not if you wanted it private," Leon agreed.

"Have it in Le Havre!" Sabine suggested. "With us!"

"Possibly," conceded Nataly. "I have also given some thought to the south."

"Ooh, _cher! _ That would be fun."

Nataly smiled but told her, "It might be a while."

"Yes, yes." Sabine waved her hand. "You're so mysterious. _Mon dieu_, so scandalous." She chuckled.

"Do you know what you're doing?" Leon asked her gently. "Are you keeping your head?"

"It's sitting right here on my shoulders, Leon," she told him smartly. "I am not being rash. I have found my partner. He is rather unconventional, but if I cannot marry who I want, what is all the money we have for?"

Sabine sniggered. "It looks like it will fall on you, Leon, to keep your family's fortune increasing like a dutiful child should."

He rolled his eyes.

"He'll have no problem," Nataly commented. "He's been a solider and now is ever the perfect gentleman. He just needs to stop traveling a while and find some woman to pursue." It was much more acceptable for a man in his late twenties or thirties to be still unmarried, as it would still be easy for them to find wives.

"You're both your father's children," said Sabine. "Difficult to please. Half again too sharp and independent for your own good." She grinned. She had beautiful teeth. "That's why I like you."


	15. Chapter 15: Vengeance

**Chapter 15: Vengeance **

**S**he showed her family the _Opera Populaire_ the next day. Her cast was working, and she introduced a few of them to her family. She soaked in their praise as she gave them a tour and then took them out into the back gallery rooms.

That night they dined out at a beautiful restaurant until well after the sun had set. Her father and mother retired to bed, but when Leon and Sabine asked if she wanted to go out on the town that night, Nataly declined. "I have somewhere I should like to go," she admitted guiltily. "I will be back in a few hours."

Sabine kissed her cheek, smirking, and wished her well, but Leon looked very unhappy.

"This late at night?" he demanded.

"Well, you both took all of my day!" she laughed.

He conceded her point with a frown. "If you're not home by at least two hours before sunrise, I'm sending the Paris police to seek you out."

"As if you will be awake then," muttered Nataly, climbing back up into the carriage.

When they reached the dark _Populaire_, Nataly's driver Michel opened her door for her.

"Mademoiselle, is it safe for you to be here so late?" he asked her, his expression concerned. Nataly knew it looked suspicious for her to go anywhere alone so late in the night, but she trusted her household staff to keep their discretion. She had known Michel at least six years.

"I'll only be here a little while, Michel, and the place is quite empty. I will be safe. Feel free to have a drink at the _Libellule_ while you wait. She handed him some money gently. "I will be back on these steps in exactly and hour and a half."

He still looked unsure, but somewhat soothed. "Alright, mademoiselle. If you're sure." As he moved the carriage across the street to secure it while he had a sit at the outdoor bar of the _Libellule_, Nataly pulled her keys out of her purse and let herself into the opera house.

Being careful to make sure she was remembering the right way, Nataly maneuvered her way down to the door of his private chambers. She figured as if was late, that is where he would likely be, and she had not seen his chambers since she had renovated them while she thought him gone for good. She was curious to see where he slept and to make love to him on a different bed than hers.

She stood and called sweetly at the door he had instructed her to use. When she received no answer after a minute, she called somewhat louder. Still he did not open for her or answer her. _Where could he be? Perhaps the stables?_

Nataly carefully made her way back up to the gallery and then entered the auditorium. She halted mid-step. Jean Durand was leaning against one side of the main entry frame to the auditorium. He held a green glass bottle of something or another in his hand. His expression was very far from charming. Even with half the auditorium between them, Nataly felt a chill of fear.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded coldly. "I did not invite you."

"The door was open. I was out at the _Libellule_ and saw you pull up to this big dark opera house." He pronounced the last four words carefully. "What would a woman like your very proper self be doing visiting this place so very late at night?" He had begun to walk toward her. She moved carefully back and to the right to keep rows of seats between them and an escape always to her back.

"A friend of mine," Jean continued, "swears he even saw you leave this place a while back in the same dress you entered it in the night before."

"I have made a home away from home for myself here. You can ask my contractors, Jean. I have washrooms and a bedroom here." She was moving up the right side, with the door to the street and a door at the front right end of the auditorium which led to a hall to a gallery to either side of her. Having not heard or seen any sign of Erik, she felt escape onto the street would be safer, and moved toward that door slowly.

"Oh, I'm sure you have a bed. And I think I know what you use it for."

"I'm sure I do not know what you mean."

He laughed, sneering. He stumbled briefly on the end of a row, and Nataly used that to rapidly move backwards toward the door. Jean made a furious snarling noise and came at her. Nataly had made it to the front entry hall when he caught up with her. He ripped a sleeve off her dress with a claw-like hand as he tried to grasp her.

"You conceited _slut_! You're using this place to fuck other men while you reject the rest of us? _While you reject me_? Who do you think you _are_?"

Nataly cried out and used her elbow to smash him in the shoulder. He released her briefly to jumped back a pace, and then his hand had flown out toward her and her head snapped sideways. Her ears and cheek rung with the sloppy slap. She heard his rough bark of a laugh.

She saw his leg move to kick her, but she evaded it and straightened for a moment. He lurched forward to get his hands on her again, but she was ready. She kicked him solidly in his right knee with her heel. He fell with a shout onto the opposite knee, grimacing with pain, and she sprang from him, fleeing for the door.

_He is drunk. I can move faster than him._ She looked across the street for protection, for Michel's carriage, and stopped dead when she did not see it. Panic shot down her spine and froze her. _I—I must head for people. He will be exposed in public. Libellule is still open. _She saw the yellow lights, the blurred faces. But then he was coming at her from the right and she abandoned her plan in her panic to get away from him. She ran for the bridge to the left of the _Populaire_ that covered the river that ran to one side of her opera house and reflected its lights so beautifully when all lights were lit for a performance. Tonight it was all darkness and shadow in the spaces between the lanterns of the bridge and the water looked black.

"Help!" she shouted to no one. No one was around. It was late. She could hear him behind her but he was slower and less steady than herself, like she had thought. _I could get around him. I need to get back to the lit street, the people. _

She scooped a rock from the ground and swung around to her right at the base of the bridge. She hurled it at him as she ran around him. It hit him hard, but did not stop him as well as she had hoped. _Too drunk to feel it_. He caught her and forced his fist into her belly.

Nataly had never had her breath knocked out of her in that way. She tried to move backwards away, but she could barely breathe and he had her again. He slapped her a second time. She tasted blood in mouth.

"_Arrogant slut_," he hissed.

Nataly tried to move backwards away. His hands were like vices. He shoved her backwards, onto the bridge now. He pressed her against the low stone bridge wall. With her breath finally back, Nataly shouted again. "_Help!_"

In response to her shout, she heard the sound of boots—of boots approaching. _Oh thank god_. Jean tried to put his hand on her mouth to stop another shout, but she used the opportunity to instead kick his shin and swing a fisted hand at his face. He backed off slightly then whirled to face whoever was coming. He swung his bottle at the side of the bridge and the end broke off, leaving a serrated weapon in his hand. He pointed it at her to keep her from trying to move away from the bridge wall.

Three figures had reached them and Nataly breathed with relief when she saw the first to step into the light of the closest bridge lantern was Leon, holding a sliver pistol with icy cold fury in his eyes. Sabine was at his right, holding his army dagger, looking ready to carve Jean Durand into pieces with it. Michel was at his left.

Nataly saw fear in Jean's eyes. He had not wanted this to become public. He lifted the razor-sharp broken bottle toward Nataly and she held still.

"You step away from her and I won't blow that worthless face of yours apart," Leon told him calmly. His voice was lethal.

Jean considered his options. He did not receive much time to do so. There came the sound of a couple stones falling from under the bridge. Then an arm shot up from under as a hooded figure with a black mask swung up onto the bridge. His hand had grasped the wrist of Jean's that was holding the broken bottle hard enough to break it, and he forced the man onto his knees with a snarl and a brutal kick to his back.

"Don't kill him," Nataly exclaimed, and Erik stilled. "Don't kill him," she repeated. "Please. It would be best for us if you did not."

Leon, Sabine, and Michel reached them. Leon used the butt of his pistol to knock Jean unconscious.

"I saw this—this man go into the _Populaire_ after you from across the street, mademoiselle," Michel said quickly in explanation. "I did not know what to do. I went to get young Monsieur."

"You did well," Leon told him. "Thank you."

"I'll run for the police—I'll get the police and then a doctor," Michel exclaimed, turning.

"Say nothing about this third man being here," Nataly told him firmly.

"Yes, mademoiselle. I'm glad you're safe, mademoiselle." Michel raced away to find help.

Nataly's feet left the ground as Erik brought her up into his arms and held her close.

"How are you hurt?" he demanded. "What did he do?"

"He was only able to slap me around," she told him, eyes closed, so grateful to be in his arms. "He punched my stomach at one point."

Erik made a deadly growling noise deep in his chest. "And I am not supposed to kill him for this? Let me drown him in the river. It'll look like an accident."

Nataly chuckled, but then that hurt her stomach. "Where were you?" she asked. "He cornered me in the _Populaire_."

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Nataly. I was picking up food—I knew nothing until I heard you shout on my way back. I'm so sorry."

"Who are you?" Sabine demanded.

Nataly sighed. She opened her eyes and looked at her brother and cousin from Erik's shoulder. "Leon, Sabine, this is Erik. My lover. Erik, this is my brother Leon and my cousin Sabine."

"Thank you for dealing with Durand," Leon said slowly. His tone was careful, though his sincere gratitude was plain. She noticed he had not put away his pistol.

"Are you a thief?" Sabine asked brightly, looking delighted. "Are you an assassin? What are you exactly?"

"He is the Phantom of the Opera," said Leon, having put things together. His face was impassive. Sabine took a quick step back.

"Oh."

Erik ignored them as he lowered Nataly in order to look at her. "Do you think anything is broken?" he asked. He tried to brush the blood from her nose and mouth but it had dried by this time. His hands were so gentle, as if she were a baby bird.

"Nothing's broken. And don't wipe me off—the worse I look, the worse it'll be for _him_."

Erik glanced down coldly at Jean. They could hear the beeping of police horns faintly, but getting louder.

"You'd best become scarce," she told Erik gently.

"It doesn't matter. I don't care. I want to make sure you are alright."

"I _am_ alright. My family is here. The best way you can take care of me now is to keep matters from becoming too complicated."

"He might have caught a look at me." Erik glanced down at Jean.

"He was drunk. Likely he will not remember things well, and if he does, all four of us will deny it." She touched his face gently. "Go, my love. Quickly."

"Do you know where our home is?" Leon asked him suddenly.

"Yes."

"Can you get in without being seen?"

"Yes."

"Meet us in the back sitting room later tonight after we have spoken with the police. I would speak to you a while before I trust you with my sister."

Nataly saw Erik bristle at that, his dark eyes flashing dangerously, and she put a calming hand on his arm. _I had almost forgotten how quick to take offense he can be._ _And he dislikes taking orders. _He set her on her feet and without responding to her brother, swung back over the side of the bridge. They heard loose stones fall and then heard his boots on the stones along the river as he moved along the bank back toward the _Populaire_ in the shadows.

The horns were upon them now, pulling up at the street.

"Will he come?" Leon asked her, frowning, his face hard.

"I don't know, Leon. He can be proud at times."

"So, madman it was, huh?" Sabine sniggered. "I was right that it was one of those three." She handed back to Leon the knife she had been holding. Leon tucked it away.

"He's not mad," Nataly defended as the police ran to them. "Just eccentric."

The three plus Michel answered questions while the crowd around them grew. A doctor arrived, and then Nataly was allowed to lie in the back of his long medical carriage while he made sure nothing was broken and cleaned her face and cuts. She was given a comforting quilt after she was cleaned up and she wrapped it around herself. Sabine sat close with her arm around her and answered the rest of the questions asked by police or bystanders so Nataly did not have to.

Jean was whisked to a hospital once the doctor discovered his broken wrist. Police went with him. Nataly's father had been fetched from the house and he made sure she was resting and comfortable before he spoke with Leon off to the side. They spoke for a long while, and Nataly was uncomfortable with the fact that Leon was likely telling him about Erik. She would have liked to have been able to break that news with her father herself.

Finally she was allowed to go home in her father's carriage. They all squeezed in together.

"Honestly, I'm fine," she told them as they fussed over her on the way home. "I did just as much damage to him, thank you very much. I had more bruises than this the summer I fell off that horse."

"I remember that," Leon said, shaking his head. "You were learning to canter for the first time and you thought jumping a tree trunk would be perfectly fine."

"It _was_ fine," she replied, grinning. "For the horse."

"You could barely sit down for months." Leon chuckled.

"I _didn't_ sit down. I lied on my stomach for two months. And mother and I fought constantly because I couldn't get away from her."

Changing the atmosphere in the carriage, her father said brusquely, "You should _not_ have been going anywhere alone as late as you did. You _know_ there are people like that in the world."

"I'm sorry," Nataly said quietly, looking at the floor. Nothing in the world felt worse to her than her father's disappointment. "I thought I would be safe."

"He'd basically been keeping tabs on her ever since she rejected him," Sabine said gently in her defense. "She couldn't have known he was planning something like this. No one could have known that."

"No, but anyone could have known better than to be out alone that late. But I imagine almost being killed or defiled has taught her that." His words were harsh, but her father had never tip-toed around things.

"Papa," said Leon firmly. His tone said 'Not tonight.'

They had Nataly's mother to deal with and reassure when they got home, and then at the end they all dropped into the chairs around the dining table and sipped some comforting tea that Sabine had made herself. The house was quiet; the rest of the household was abed or in their own homes. They had lit candles and lanterns to light the room.

Nataly's father looked weary, but he remained dressed and awake with them in the dining room.

"I understand," he began gruffly, "that I may meet the man you intend to make part of this family if I wait around."

Nataly glanced at Leon. She wanted to stare down into her cup, but she straightened her back and met her father's eyes. _I have nothing to be ashamed of_. "This is not the way I would have liked you all to meet. It is sudden and I do not know if he is ready for it. He is not…he is not very trusting."

"Neither am I," Leon put in. "But he saved your life tonight. That is something I find myself able to trust. So perhaps it is not as bad a way to meet as you think."

Nataly gave him a tiny smile that barely reached her eyes.

"Ithink he's interesting," commented Sabine. "He's got a suave, dark powerhouse thing going on. And he cares deeply for Nat. Anyone could hear that in his voice. Anyways, we're all crazy in some way or other, _oui_?" She shrugged. "And as long as he doesn't murder _often_, or at least does it for a _paycheck_—"

"Sabine!" Nataly exclaimed, smiling despite herself. "_Dieu_."

"Good men can kill without becoming evil," Leon allowed. "But I am not yet convinced he is the former."

"Withhold judgment for a time," Nataly said, sighing. "And remember that I love him and that I'm not an idiot."

"Usually." Leon rolled his eyes.

"_Really_?" Sabine asked, frowning at him. "Have you been _around_ other young women? Nataly has five times the sense of any group of them put together. _I_ trust she knows what she's doing."

"Thank you, Sabine."

A dog barked from the back and they quieted. The back patio door opened and closed. His footsteps were almost silent, but then he was a large black shadow in the doorframe.


	16. Chapter 16: Baptized

**Chapter 16: Baptized **

**N**ataly rose and crossed to him; she touched one of his hands. She still had the quilt around her, and he brought it up snuggly around her shoulders. He was wearing a white-half mask and his black handsome clothes; a black cloak covered him for now and its hood shadowed his face and its mask.

"You look better," he said in a low voice.

"I'm fine."

"Let's go to the sitting room," Leon suggested. "It's more comfortable there. Sabine, will you bring the tea?"

They lit candles as they went and lit the few candle fixtures in the back sitting room. The chairs and divans were very comfortable, and this back space was homier than any toward the front of the house where guests were entertained. Leon kneeled in front of the fireplace and showed a skill at making his own fires that Nataly had not known he had. He put in kindling, then stacked logs, and soon had a fire crackling warmly to light the room. Sabine pulled the quilt from the back of the armchair she sat down in and tucked it in over her lap.

Erik unfastened his cloak and removed it. All watched him but Leon who was still poking at his budding fire. Erik hung it on a peg on the wall and sat beside Nataly on the divan. It was clear he was uncomfortable by the stiff way he held his body, but his face remained carefully impassive.

"Is this Durand man jailed?" he asked no one in particular.

"Hospital, then jail," Leon answered him, standing and wiping his hands on his pants. "We received assurances that that was where he was headed, regardless of the interference of his relations and their money." He took a chair. "The whole city will know him now for the bastard he is."

"Your name is Erik, I understand," her father prompted.

"Yes. Nataly, would you introduce us?" Erik asked pointedly.

"Oh! Oui, mon dieu, I'm so sorry. Erik, this is Monsieur Gervais Benoit, my father. Papa, this is Erik. He—he has no last name."

"But he certainly has a title," her father commented. His tone was difficult to place. He learned forward in his dark green chair and clasped his hands together. "I remember the smell of smoke in your hair and the despair in your eyes, Nataly, when you came home to tell me the Phantom of the Opera had burned down the opera house you loved so well. I remember thinking you could have died. That this man's melodramatic _antics_ could have _killed_ my daughter." He rubbed his jaw. The room was silent. "I also remember that that month you talked of his music long after you had stopped talking of his fire."

Nataly smiled a little and her eyes softened. "Erik is a brilliant composer, papa. Also an artist, a craftsman—"

"—with no name and barely a face," Erik interjected. "These are things that cannot be politely ignored." His voice was calm but it was plain he wished to get to the heart of the matter. He sat beside Nataly with dignity and composure. She was proud of him for that. His eyes were on her father.

"If I told you you would not be coming near my daughter ever again, what would you do?" her father asked him.

"I would do as your daughter wished," answered Erik in a hard voice. "So really, that is a question for her."

"Papa," Nataly reproached quietly.

"Let's say she tells you she never wishes to see you again," her father pressed.

"Then I am gone."

"But if she wished to see you and I did not want it, you would disobey my wishes."

"I should like to eventually come to know and respect you, Monsieur Benoit," said the ghost in their midst, "but at the moment I care very little for what you do or do not want. Your daughter's wishes, on the other hand, are everything."

"You have killed people," her father said in a hard voice. "I do not even know the number. People who have gotten in your way."

"Your son has killed as well. I knew the moment I saw the way he held a gun. Sometimes men must kill to live. Or to do their duty as they see it. There is nothing civilized or Christian about it, do not mistake me. But neither is it evil."

Nataly heard in Erik's voice and saw in his eyes the Phantom that had been such a fascination and mystery to her in the first months. He was cool courtesy with a sharp-edged bite. Calm, refined, witty, dark. Old fashioned and yet utterly unpredictable. The man he had been with her in these last few weeks had caused her to forget what kind of man he could be. How he could command a room with just the dark power of his voice. How he could match wits with anyone. How he could be frightening.

She did not reach out her hand to him. It would have taken away from his independence. He wished to come to her family as himself. As their sister or daughter's lover, but also as The Phantom of the Opera.

Both Leon's and her father's faces remained impassive.

"You have nothing to offer my daughter."

Nataly stared at her father in disbelief. He was being unconscionably rude to this man who was a guest in their home and her dearest love besides, and she half-hated him for it. She knew, however, that he was pushing this mystery of a man to see if there was any cruelty or malice to bring out of him.

"I have nothing to offer your daughter," the Phantom agreed. "I could say to you that I offer my protection. I could say I offer my talents, my time, my unadulterated love for her mind and soul and my devotion to her happiness. But all of that would likely sound like a poor attempt to smooth over the fact that no, Monsieur Benoit, I have nothing to offer your daughter."

Only someone who knew her father as she did would have been able to tell that he had liked that answer. Nataly relaxed somewhat. Leon was as stoic as his father. Sabine perched on the edge of her seat anxiously, but for once she was keeping her silence. She gave Nataly small, sympathetic smiles every half minute.

"And from the bit of your neck I can see," added her father coolly, "I see that that mask is hiding some sort of disgusting disfigurement."

Nataly held her breath in shock and mortification. _I do not think I will be able to forgive him for this. _Her father did not look to see her furious expression, however; his eyes were fixed on the man to her left.

"Yes, I am terrifyingly hideous, all agree," the Phantom replied. His voice was not exactly light, but it was far from the tone of exploding malice that Nataly had expected. "I happen to be of the opinion," he continued, "that everyone has a bit of ugliness, and some of mine just happens to be on the outside for the world to see. It's a difficult way to live, but perhaps a more honest way. And if you're all out of obvious failings of mine, Monsieur Benoit, we could add to this list that my toes are rather hairy and I am a horrendous cook."

Sabine laughed. She covered her mouth with both hands to stifle it as best she could. Even Leo allowed himself half a grin. Nataly was too anxious and angry with her father to find amusement in anything. The Phantom's expression remained emotionless and hard.

Her father rose from his chair and walked to the Phantom. The room fell silent again as he did so. He put his two weathered hands to either side of the masked face and kissed him solidly on the brow.

"Your brother," he said to Nataly when he had straightened, "the poor sot, will never be able to find anyone half so interesting, Nataly dear." He turned and began walking out. "I expect that wedding in a few months. In Montpellier or someplace. And we're telling your mother none of this. Ever. We're going to lie and lie. I am going to bed. Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Uncle!" Sabine called cheerily. "I love you!"

The stairs creaked from the middle of the house as he went up to his bedroom.

Nataly let out her breath in a choppy laugh in surprise and relief. She took a breath to say something, but the words stopped in her throat when she saw a tear slip down Erik's face in the firelight. She moved close to him and wiped it away with gentle fingers. She kissed his neck. That closeness was not enough for her, so she threw a leg over him and sat on his lap with her arms around his neck. His arms came up around her slowly and he held her.

Leon was smiling. He came over to stand next to them, a hand on his hip.

"Father was abominably rude," Nataly sighed. "I've never heard him be so rude before. I'm sorry about that, Erik."

"I've heard worse," he replied. He was not entirely able to keep emotion out of his voice.

"Father was rude and then father made him family," Leon corrected her. He looked Erik in the eyes. "He gave you his blessing."

"He baptized him, blessed him, joked, and went to bed," Sabine said, smirking.

Leon cleared his throat. "Anyway, now that that's decided, I think I'll be getting to bed as well."

"Yes," Sabine chirped quickly. "Me as well."

Leon fed the fire a log or two more and then he and his cousin melted away to give the two of them some privacy. Almost as soon as they had left, Erik allowed himself to actually weep with emotion as he had not allowed himself to do before. Nataly held him fiercely. His tears stopped after a brief time.

She kissed him gently. "Everything will be alright now, my love," she said, smiling with the relief and contentment she felt. "All is well, _mon fantôme_. My family is yours now." More of his tears came at that; Nataly kissed them away. "It will be you and I now, always, _mon amour_. Will you stay with me?"

"Until the end of reckoning, _ange doux_," he whispered.

.

_**La fin.**_


End file.
